Father Goose and the Black Knight
by litmouse
Summary: Crossover with SVU. SVU crew finds Cleveland not as dull as they expected when they run into Faith, Xander, a houseful of slayers and an evil wizard type person. XF maybe. Stabler Munch Fin Benson appear. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: **Disclaimer**: Characters from Law and Order: SVU belong to Dick Wolfe and Co.

BTVS/ATS Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co. Not to me. Not making a dime.

**Timelines: **BTVS: Takes place approx. three years after _Chosen _

SVU: I've only watched SVU in syndication so frankly my grasp of SVU continuity is not as firm as it might be. For the purposes of this fic, Benson and Stabler, Fin and Munch are copasetic partners, Stabler is recently separated.

**Warnings: **This is a cross with SVU and does concern sex crimes which will be discussed but not described in detail, much as on the show. There will be some violence. There will be some cussin'. If all goes well, there will be some crime-free sex, nookie but not porn. Faith takes a bath.

**Geography: **A hellmouth in Cleveland seems to be fanfic canon so I'm just going roll with it: I've been through Cleveland a time or two, but I certainly don't know the city, so while I may have stolen a few names from the map, the Cleveland in this fic is just a place I made up and called "Cleveland." Detective Munch's opinion of the city belong to Detective Munch and are not necessarily shared by the author.

Same applies to Carmel or any other "real" places that may make an appearance.

Chapter One: Travel is broadening.

**CLEVELAND**

Munch was the last to arrive at the central Cleveland PD offices. Benson, Stabler and Fin were already there at the conference table, with their coffee and donuts and their damn grins. They were all in on it. He knew it. Oh, Cragen had put them up it, probably as a favor to some old friend in the Cleveland PD or something, but they were all in on it. He knew it.

He stalked over to the table, walked around, staring them each in the eye.

"Cleveland," he said out loud. No one spoke. "Cleveland," he said again. "You know, when Cragen brought up this whole exchange program thing I remember Miami, San Francisco, Seattle, Chicago. I don't remember anyone mentioning Cleveland."

"Gotta read the fine print, Munch," Stabler said and Munch turned on him, thrust out an accusing finger,

"You," he said, "this is your fault, isn't? You're the only person I know who would actually go to Cleveland on purpose. You volunteered us for this, didn't you?"

"Hey, calm down Munch," Fin said, "We all just signed up cause a couple months out of the City sounded relaxing. Same as you."

"Et tu, Brutus?" Munch said, sinking down into chair. "Just for the record, "relaxing" and "boring" are not synonyms. _Cleveland. _We may have to deal with some sick shit in the City, but at least when you come in you know there's always the possibility of the truly strange. But Cleveland, what the hell could happen in Cleveland?"

"Tempting fate, Detective Munch?" A fifty-some woman with salt-n-pepper hair and lines of weariness on her face came through the door and joined the NYPD team at the table. She was carrying a short stack of file folders which she dealt out like cards with practiced ease. "I'm Captain Maddux. I'll be your immediate supervisor, liaison, whatever. I assume you all got your badges and credentials from the desk sergeant? Good. I apologize for the disarray, but we've seen a marked rise in crime the last couple years and we're seriously understaffed, but we will have you set up with desks and phones by noon or heads will roll. I'll introduce you to the rest of the squad this afternoon. Meanwhile I thought I'd give you a little light reading. The gray folder is an overview, crime stats and hotspots, surveillance options and so on; the red folders are a couple of priority cases. We're going to put you right to work, Detectives, if you wanted to relax you should have taken a vacation. Any questions?"

Munch flipped idly through the first red folder, stopped, flipped back a few pages and read more thoroughly then looked up at the waiting Captain, and read aloud,

"'I was raped by Satan?' You wouldn't be pulling an out-of-towner's leg by any chance?"

"No, Detective, I'm afraid not. I wish I was." The Captain sighed, rubbed her eyes, stared at the ceiling a moment. "I rolled my eyes, too, Detective, the first time I saw one of these cases. But there have been three now, and make no mistake, Detectives, these girls have been brutalized. Ligature marks on wrists and ankles, genital and rectal penetration, cuts on thighs and torso consistent with ritual bloodletting, brands burned on breasts and buttocks, I guarantee the vics aren't making any of that up. As for the rest…."

"Fangs? Yellow eyes?" Benson read out of the file. "A mask?"

"Possibly. Probably. Read further down." She waited.

Benson got there first. "What the hell?" she said. "They must be mistaken."

"Yeah," Captain Maddux said. "They must be. But we were careful, very careful, at least with the second two vics. They picked those faces out of the book without any prompting from us whatsoever."

"And they were consistent?"

"Well the first vic said there were nine acolytes, the other two said eight, but maybe the ninth just didn't participate. Otherwise, they're totally consistent. Teenage girls dressed in brown robes, which they dropped when they joined in the bloodletting. All three vics identified the same five girls from their photos, three runaways still listed as missing. And two runaways who had already been found. Dead. Welcome to Cleveland, Detectives."

**CALIFORNIA**

Faith hit the curve going fast, too fast, and she leaned hard, laying the big Harley over so far the footpeg trailed sparks as it scraped the pavement. She eased off the gas for just an instant, then twisted the throttle as she hit the apex and roared forward, thankful that there was no oncoming traffic as she had drifted a couple feet over the centerline before she was able to straighten the bike and bring it back to her side of the road. The twin engine pounded on, working hard, she checked the tach, still just a little to the left of the red zone so she held the pace, flying through the dying light of a bloodied-orange sunset, going fast, very fast, too fast into the next curve of the loop-de-loop pacific coast highway.

It was sudden, so fast it was over before it began, a patch of sand, a spot of oil, whatever, the big rear tire fish-tailed as she entered the curve, almost took her down. She pulled it out, of course, her body reacting automatically, hips working to regain balance, arms holding the front wheel steady, careful not to bend the handlebars the way she had the first time she'd had a near-paint-scratch experience. She was quickly back in control, riding on the edge, the very edge but not over it, though the same could not be said for the centerline.

Then she saw the flicker of approaching headlights,

Instant zen, Wesley had called the motorcycle.

It had been a gift from Angel, of course, the big guy standing there with the goofy grin, basking in her "Ohmigod"s, and "It's beautiful!"s and "Thank you"s, drinking in her excitement like it was the best thing since warm otter. And Faith forgetting herself so far as to hug him. Twice. And squeal a little. And giggle. Like a little girl on Christmas morning. Not that she'd ever squealed and giggled on Christmas herself as a little girl, so she wouldn't know, but she imagines that's what it would have been like.

It was gift from Angel, but Wesley had picked it out, a Dyna Low Rider, 1500 cc's strong. Wesley who had taken it down to the custom shop and had the crossed stake and sword painted on the tank and matching saddlebags. Wesley who had insisted on going with her to buy a helmet, boots, leathers---

-- real leathers, not the cheap jeans she was used to, but the real deal, thick and solid yet butter soft, with built-in armor covering knees and elbows and shoulders yet still hugging her ass like an eager lover. Posing in the shop's mirror she looked like something out of one of Harris' comic books, actually being a super hero, bonus, but now she looked the part ---

--- Wesley who had insisted she take his own more battle worn bike for a practice run before risking her own pristine paint and chrome.

Yeah, Wesley with a Harley of his own. That'd been a bit of shock.

Faith liked to think she was pretty good at sizing people up, but she'd never quite figured Wesley out. Now she never would.

Instant zen, Wes had said. Maybe it was enough for some people, normal people, riding along with the wind in their faces, nothing between them and a brutal death but a bit of balance and some engineering, but it just wasn't enough for a slayer. No, if she wanted to pull herself out of her head, stop thinking about things like dead Wesley, then she had to push it hard, very hard, all the way to the edge. And dead Angel, all the way to edge, not far enough.

The approaching headlights turned into… a car. Faith could talk bikes, makes, models, but cars were just… cars. All bright and shiny and new and probably equipped with airbags and all the latest safety gimmicks that wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if 700 pounds of motorcycle came in through the windshield. A car, and two more behind it and there was no way she was getting back to her side of the road, and there was no more time and no paved shoulder at all on this road, just a thin strip of treacherous sand and gravel, the low guardrail and the ocean waiting some hundred feet below.

Faith let the bike drift wide left, to the very edge of the pavement, stood on the pegs, twisted the throttle and dropped the bike into the dirt, it shimmied an instant, the tires wanting to slide out but Faith fought back, holding the big machine steady between her legs, keeping the bike upright through sheer willpower. And then the rear wheel caught. Gravel clattered on the guardrail behind her as Faith flashed by the gaping faces in the passenger windows of the cars passing by just inches from her right elbow.

And then she was past, bouncing back up on the pavement and roaring on, still going fast, very fast…but not too fast, not now, not with her mind full of the three car pile-up that could have happened… 'cause even if she wasn't that sure she wanted to live anymore, she knew she didn't want to take anyone with her if she went. No one human, anyway.

A little later she pulled off at one of the ocean overlooks, circled the bike so it was pointing back toward the road, killed the engine, put the kickstand down and sat a moment, listening to the clinks and pings as the engine cooled. She pulled off her helmet, hooked it on the handlebar, shook out her hair, patted the gas tank.

"You done good, kid," she told the bike. "I promise no more bullshit tonight, just a nice slow cruise in the moonlight here on out, sound good?"

She swung off, stood a moment getting her land legs back, popped open one the saddlebags and pulled out a box of cigars, the one lasting legacy of her time with B. and the gang in Europe, a classier tobacco habit.

The talking to inanimate objects, that was something she'd picked up back in the states.

There were a couple picnic tables set at cliff's edge and Faith went over and sat on the table, shucked off her jacket, pulled one of the long thin Cubans out of the box, lit up, and sat watching the red ball of the sun, already halfway under, sink down and away.

It had been a mistake to come back to Los Angeles, to wander around the boarded up Hyperion, to stand in the alley behind and wonder, was it here, was it there, did he go immediately to dust or was there time for him to suffer first, to have limbs torn off, organs punctured. Would it have made any difference if she'd been there with him, fighting by his side?

Bastard. He'd sent her way. He'd told her he needed someone on the outside he could trust. He'd told her the junior slayers needed her. Told her he needed someone in the slayer camp that still trusted him. Told her lots of things. Probably meant some of them. Probably meant all of them. But he'd sent her away to live while he died. She was trying to forgive him, really trying, but it was hard.

Gah. She shook her head, who needed these thoughts roiling around, just cause he wasn't doing the brooding thing anymore didn't mean she had to do it for him. She stood. Faith had learned to sit still in prison, she hadn't learned to like it. She walked back to the bike, pulled her broadsword out its sheath, another Wes touch, and came back to the picnic table. It wasn't the best place, a little too visible, but fuckit, it was pretty dark, traffic was light, and she needed this. She shucked off her boots and pants, piled them on the table with her jacket and stood in tank top and boxers, and began her first kata, half-smoked cigar still in her mouth.

She grinned, remembering Harris in Italy coming by her hotel room, dragging her out of bed at the crack of noon, insisting she had to come to some art house theater to see some movie in the original Italian cut, 'cause she was the only one he knew in Rome that appreciated true art. So later she realized maybe that meant he'd asked Buffy and Dawn and hell maybe even Andrew before he'd asked her. But she'd gone along, cause hell, it wasn't like she had anything else planned and the movie turned out to be "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" which was cool. That's when she'd switched over from Gaulois to the cigars, to tell the truth. "The Man with No Name." She could relate. She was a little freaked there, the first time they put the rope around Tuco's neck, but when she stole a glance Harris didn't seem to be making any connection to her own little bit of strangulation so she let it go.

For while there they'd had a thing, he'd called her Clint, she'd done the "_wah-wah-wah_" after his lamer jokes. They'd gone out a couple times, like friends, hitting some bars. He'd tried, but Anya was heavy on him and he'd never really got in the party mood, he'd start feeling bad about cramping her style, didn't believe her when she said she didn't mind just sitting with him, he didn't want to sit there and watch the girl he'd come in with dance with every other good-looking guy in the place.

So that kind of just stopped and she didn't really see him again until he was headed for Africa, he stopped by, gave her an Eastwoodian poncho, told her to take care, and was gone… She wondered sometimes, maybe she should have gone with him, instead of heading for Giles and the New Council. Maybe she would have fit in better in Africa, just her and Harris doing the lone wolf thing…. shit, she didn't need all these thoughts either, she moved faster, faster until all she was thinking was slice and dice and skewer and slice and dice and hack, faster and faster until she wasn't thinking of anything at all.

She heard the rumbling engine and the squealing brakes behind her and she turned just in time to see the pick-up come off the highway and spinout on the gravel of the overlook parking area and slam into her bike, sending it crashing back through the guardrail and over the edge and just like that it was gone, enhanced slayer senses allowed her to hear the distant splash.

**MISSOURI**

Alexander L. Harris finished his spiel on the amenities offered by the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls, laid the brochure on the table, adjusted his tie and wished for demons. Vamps, werewolves, succubae, fyrals, haxils, wendigos, whatever, something simple you could just kill and be done with. Simple straightforward self-evident evil.

The girl's mother was babbling hysterically, shouting her denial, and he let her words roll by as he thought fondly of the Congo and the enormous mosquitoes, Kampala and his four hundredth serving of steamed matoke, thought fondly of being anywhere but here.

Here was Tom Sawyer/Huck Finn territory, a small town on the Mississippi river, a clean but slightly faded sub-division of clap-board houses, bicycles and Big Wheels and dirt bikes littered driveways, dogs barked, cats sunned themselves in windows or half-heartedly stalked birds in back yards, burning charcoal and BBQ sauce seasoned the air.

The new slayer, no question there, a slayer, by now Alexander could tell with a glance, could sense The Slayer lurking behind the most meek and demure façade, though that was hardly the case here. This Slayer may be freckle-faced and red-haired but melanin issues aside it could have been Faith junior slouching there on the sofa, her eyes, at turns defiant, disdainful and haunted, watching his every move, looking for some sign of, he didn't know, weakness, maybe, or falseness. One lie, one hint of bullshit on his part, and he would lose her, he could feel it.

Mom was babbling on, but Alexander ignored her because the slayer ignored her, Mom was irrelevant here. Not so much with Dad. Dad had a broken arm in a fresh cast, and fear in his eyes. Those rare times when the slayer's eyes left Alexander they went to Dad and locked, Dad staring back, he was scared but not defeated. Not happy, either.

Alexander was afraid he had a pretty good idea what had been happening when the slayer came into her powers, but he hoped it was just that Dad was a bit free with the corporal punishment. He hoped, he didn't much believe it.

Dad spoke, "Marybeth can go." Mom gaped a moment, took a breath to launch a protest but was silenced by a glance from Dad. She sank back, visibly wilting into the sofa, defeated.

Marybeth spoke, "Can Jinny and Michelle come with me?"

"No," Dad snapped.

"Jinny and Michelle?" Alexander asked.

"My sisters." Marybeth stood, started down the hall toward the bedrooms,

"Marybeth!" her father said, and she stopped automatically, then shook herself and took a breath and marched on. Alexander heard the distinctive and familiar sound of a locked door breaking, Dad cursed under his breath and Alexander almost, but just almost, felt a twinge of sympathy. Slayers: 4721 Doors: zero

Marybeth returned shepherding two doppelgangers in descending sizes, Alexander estimated ages 12 and 10. Physical doppelgangers anyway, but no slayers these, just sad, scared little girls who peeked at Alexander, peeked at seething Dad and stared steadfastly at the floor.

Alexander struggled to his feet, said, "Marybeth, shall we take a walk?" Waited a moment and when the girl nodded turned to his partner in persuasion, said "Hand me my cane, would you, Vi?"

The oldest slayer living in the Cleveland house, with her shy girl-next-door manners that worked as a mother soothing contrast to Harris' piratical appearance, Vi was getting to be a veteran slayer-gatherer, experienced enough to know something was off here. She quickly retrieved Alexander's cane and handed it over, eyes wide with questions. It was not unusual for him to arrange to speak to the slayer alone, but usually he was sneaky about it, meeting her during a lunchtime or waiting in a nearby cemetery to catch her on one of the midnight jaunts new slayers seemed unable to resist. Vi couldn't remember even one time where he had simply defied a girl's parents like this.

"Keep an eye on things here, please, Vi, maybe tell Jinny and Michelle why Cleveland is America's most exciting city. We won't be too long."

Alexander led Marybeth over to the ancient van parked on the street in front of her house, the panel door slid open as they approached and mop of blonde hair spilled out, then flipped up to reveal bright blue eyes and a wide grin much too large for the elfin body that supported them.

"Marybeth, " Alexander said, "meet Renee, who can totally kick your ass. Renee, Marybeth." While the girls exchanged nods Alexander took off his tie, stuffed it in his coat pocket, took off his coat and tossed it in the back of the van, turned back to Marybeth and said, "and you can call me Xander. Crowbar time."

Renee hopped out of the van, spinning a steel crowbar in one hand like a baton, then without warning tossing at Marybeth who caught it and stood staring at her hand.

"Bend it," Xander told her.

"What?" Marybeth said.

"Look, what we talked about inside, these new powers you've been feeling, the speed, the strength. It's not a growth spurt, you're not just strong for your age, you're not just suddenly tougher than your dad. You're a superhero. Bend it."

Marybeth stared at him a moment, then suddenly gripped both ends of the tool and bent it in half.

"Holy shit," she said.

Xander took the crowbar back, rolled up his sleeves and tried mightily to straighten it, the muscles in his arms standing out like ropes, a light sheen of sweat appeared.

"Not faking," he grunted and Marybeth nodded. He tossed the crowbar over to Renee who casually straightened it and tossed it back in the van. "Let's walk," Xander said.

There was narrow park that ran along the river's edge, Xander settled on a bench while Marybeth leaned against the low fence and stared out at the eddies and swirls in the brown water. She had a lot to digest and he left her to it, digging out his cell and calling home,

"Caridad," he started, but as he expected, would not get a word in edgewise for some time.

"Xander, Xander Harris, that is you? How dare you speak my name? How dare you go off and leave me in charge of these… these monsters, these Satan spawned horrors…" He waited while she ran through her list of the sins against hygiene, decency and common sense twenty-five girls between the ages of 15 and 20, all gifted with enough excess energy to power a small town, could perpetrate in the four days of his absence, pleased because the petty complaints meant there have been no serious injuries, meant none of his girls was dead.

Caridad finally ran down, and, purged, was suddenly bright and cheery again, asking after the new slayer.

"Long story," Xander told her, "who's next?"

Xander sat and listened, Valerie had boy trouble, Amaka was having trouble with her English at school, Safiyah wanted a new bicycle, Amber had got a mouthful of vamp dust on patrol and wanted to know how to make sure that never ever happened again, because, gross, ew ew EWW, Isabel says Jacquie stole her jacket, Jacquie says Isabel left it behind in some boy's car, Isabel and Jacquie fight in the background while Shad proudly told him of her first kill with the crossbow.

Xander listened and made the correct friendly noises and watched Marybeth, knowing full well she was listening, could hear every word. It was a cheap trick, but effective. Sounds of (relatively) happy home, a (relatively) functional family. Normality. Safety. Love.

If it was just Marybeth, the deal would be done, she'd be Cleveland bound.

And now that he had her softened up.

"Marybeth?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about your father."

And she turned, looked him in the eye and said softly,

"I'm going to kill the bastard."

-30-


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: See chapter one for Disclaimer/Warnings

Chapter Two: **MAD DOG AND ENGLISHMAN**

**CALIFORNIA**

Darren had had dreams like this, where beautiful girls just stripped down for no reason, and this girl, even compared to his dreams, damn! Standing there nude and naked all hard-muscled and soft-curved, perfect skin rosy in the red glow of his truck's running lights, double damn!

Of course, in his dreams Darren's hands weren't tied behind his back and he wasn't standing on his tiptoes straddling a sword that had been shoved through his passenger door. A very, very sharp sword that had gone through the door like it was a made of tinfoil but now seemed to be very securely lodged…about an eighth of an inch below his most valued possessions.

"Stay," she'd told him and, yeah, well. Duh. Not moving. Not him. Not an inch. Not until he learned to levitate.

And then she'd stripped and jumped off the cliff. Just turned and took two steps and gone.

That had been some time ago now and Darren's knees were beginning to quiver. Darren was getting a little resentful. Darren was getting a little pissed.

It was her own damn fault, dancing around in her underwear like that, swinging that big shiny sword that gleamed in his headlights, a man couldn't help but take his eye off the road, faced with a sight like that. So he'd had a drink or two, he'd driven this road many times after a drink or two and never had a damn accident 'till she started dancing around in her underwear swinging her big damn shiny sword, it was all her own damn fault, she had no call to take it out on him.

She'd jumped off the cliff. She was dead, wasn't she? She was dead. Seventy, eighty feet down, rocks, water, she was dead. She wasn't coming back. She'd just left him here, to slowly tire and sink down and he would have to decide whether to lean to the right and cut off his left nut, or lean to the left and cut off his right and then… and then… and then. He wasn't going to think about that. He was going to take a deep breath and stand on his tiptoes till hell froze over. Or someone stopped to help. Whichever came first.

And then she was back, coming back over the cliff's edge like she had just been out for a stroll. It must have been a trick, there was a …a .. net or something, this whole thing was setup just to fuck with him…No.

She was wet, now. She was carrying a soaking wet set of saddlebags. She looked…. Right through him. Like he wasn't there. The girls in his dreams were wet sometimes, but they never looked at him like that, not even contempt, hate, nothing, just… Nothing. Emptiness.

It was going to be a long time, Darren thought sadly, before the girls in his dreams did anything but make him scream. And not in a good way.

Darren stood on his tiptoes and waited.

She dressed, black leather, heavy boots, if she'd been scary before, now, _geeze_. She turned on his cab light and dumped her stuff out on the seat of his truck and sorted out what could be saved and what was totally ruined and repacked. Darren took a deep breath and risked the future of his family line on a peek over his shoulder. Girl liked her knives.

Darren stood on his tiptoes and waited.

Finally she came around the truck and took the sword and pulled it free, Darren sank to his knees too tired to even flinch when she raised the sword and swung and cut through the belt she'd used to tie his hands. His belt, his favorite snakeskin….. Never mind.

She grabbed his arm and lifted him up like he was nothing, said,

"Think you can drive now?"

Darren nodded. Oh yeah, he could drive, he was sober, stone cold sober, he could drive, he could do about anything to get away from those eyes.

She threw her saddlebags in the back and got in on the passenger side and waited as he started it up, backed and turned toward the highway,

"North," she said, and the words,

"But I was going…" actually formed in his head. But stayed there, where it was safe. Relatively. North it was. After while she leaned over and felt under the seat until she found his bottle. She held it up to the dashboard light.

"Mad Dog?" she said. "You were drinking Mad Dog? I know slime demons that wouldn't drink this shit."

Darren stayed silent and drove north. After a while she opened the bottle and took a hit.

**MISSOURI**

Xander and Marybeth were gone for two hours, two of the longest hours of Vi's life. She'd tried to talk to the little girls, she tried to talk to the Mom. Dad just sat and glared at her. She sat silent and waited as each lonely second squeezed slowly by. Dad tried to leave once but she took his arm gently and squeezed, just enough.

"Let's just wait for Xa… Mr. Harris," she'd said. "I'm sure he'll be back soon." Shoes, she decided. He was going to pay her back by buying her shoes, and, if he didn't get back in the next fifteen minutes she was going to make him go shopping for them with her. A mall. Maybe two.

Then at last he was back and Vi didn't say anything about shoes. He had that look, the one he got whenever one the girls got in trouble, real trouble, the funny-Xander-is-not-at-home look.

They came in the door, the new slayer and Xander and without a word they marched down the hall, there were the sounds of things breaking, a cabinet of some kind, something metal. And then they came back carrying guns, small shotgun, two pistols, a hunting rifle which they laid out on the coffee table.

"Wait," Xander said, then taking each gun in turn he checked to be sure they were unloaded before he handed them over to Marybeth, who bent them each in half. Then Xander took Marybeth by the shoulders and stared into her eyes.

"Patience," he said. "Stay in at night. Promise me." After moment Marybeth nodded. Xander turned and stared at Dad.

"Sir," he said, "these girls, they're not alone, not anymore. Do you understand me?"

They stopped at a Pizza Hut about a mile from Marybeth's house and Xander sent the girls ahead to order.

Vi stopped at the door and sent Renee ahead to order while she lingered and listened to Xanders' end of his call.

"Hey, who is this, Toby? It's me, Xander.

"--- Xander Harris--- my what? My code? Xander Harris X-ray monkey, zebra-I'm-gonna-call-Willow-and- have-her-turn-you-into-a-kipper if you don't put me through. Yes, Xander from The Bus and I know some of you are referring to it as the short bus these days but I'm really serious about the whole kipper thing if ---

"---- hello--- Hello, who is this, Helen? Helen, do I know you--- oh, right you had the wart…er, right, Helen, I need Giles. I need to speak to Giles-- Yes, I know what time it is, okay well, no I don't, but I don't care---- look, Helen, old chap, I've got a code whatever-it-is that's not apocalyptic or life threatening but really fucking urgent anyway .--- okay, you swear, Helen, first thing in the morning, the very fucking first thing he sees in the morning?

"Okay then, it's like this, ready; Giles, politics be damned I need another damn Watcher in Cleveland yesterday, asap, immediamente, I don't care if you send original edition Wesley, I need an adult with legal rights Watcher now. And Giles, right after you send the Watcher, send lawyers guns and money, cause I'm about to do something really stupid."

"Okay, Helen old boy, read that back.. Okay, first thing in the morning or it's kippers for you, too.--- Ask Toby. Pip-pip."

Vi heard the tapping of Xander's cane coming her way and she went inside to slip innocently into the booth next to Renee.

"Slight change of plans," Xander said after the second pizza had been decimated, "I'm going to stay here a couple days, you two are going to go on ahead…. Don't even start," he added when Renee opened her mouth to protest.

"But…." she started anyway but Vi kicked her under the table.

"Spend tonight in Springfield, tomorrow, get the van detailed, stop at a used car lot and pretend you're going to trade it, anything, just get it on the record somewhere that it was empty. Use the credit card to buy gas, go inside, flirt with clerks, get a speeding ticket if you think you can get the beast to go fast enough. Anything to leave a record that you two and this van were far away from here, got me? And don't call this phone, you need anything, call Caridad."

"Yes, boss," in tandem.

"Once more, with less sarcasm, please."

"We understand, Xander," Vi said.

A half mile down the road Vi stopped the van.

"I don't like it," Vi said.

"You know it has to be me," Renee said. "I'm not old enough to drive. Besides, if it does end up being some kind of legal problem I've got the whole juvie thing still going. It is has to be me."

"I know, still… If he catches you he'll kill us both."

"Nuhuh. You're the oldest, he'll kill you, me, I'll just get a spanking."

"You wish….. Crap. You got everything?"

Renee held up her pack, "Stakes, check, crossbow, check, cash, check, lip gloss, check. Cell phone, check. Drive safe, Vi." And Renee opened the van door and was gone.

CLEVELAND

"I was just, you know, hanging in the square… look I already told all this stuff about forty million times," the girl said.

Detective Benson put on her most sympathetic face, leaned forward, said,

"I know, Cynthia, I know it's hard. But we really want to catch this guy and…"

"It was the girls really. I mean, the guy did the … you know, rape stuff, but I'm not completely stupid, I wouldn't have just gone off with some guy, you know? But I'd seen those girls around, you know, usually three or four at a time, they usually had, you know, like chocolate bars or cigarettes or some gum… and they'd share, you know, I didn't think nothing of it, cause it wasn't like they were just giving them out like they were trying to buy something, you know? It was just, if they had a candy bar they'd break it in half, if they had a pack of smokes they'd give you one."

"Where do you think they got all these… treats?"

"You know, five-finger discount… you could tell they kinda worked together, you know, buncha girls go in a store, a couple girls getting in the clerks face, the others could, you know, make out like bandits? They had cool clothes too… look, I know they were playing me. Now I know. But they were cool, you know, me and Florida…"

"That's the girl who was with you?"

"Yeah. I don't know what her real name was, we just called her Florida cause she was always talking about going there sometime, you know … you haven't….?"

"No. We haven't found her. I'm sorry.'

"Anyway, me and Florida we were always kinda hoping they'd let us, you know, join up, be in their gang. That night they came by, said they'd found a back way into some club on 4th, so we went. But you know we never got there…, last thing I remember, we'd gone past the bus station, we turned down this alley, I don't know where really, it was all dark, you know, and one of the girls grabbed me around the neck and squeezed and the next thing I knew I was..." She paused, closed her eyes moment, took breath, "Next thing I knew I was tied down and my back hurt and I was cold and that … thing was standing over me…"

"You mean the man in the mask…"

"I guess. That's what everyone keeps saying. But it looked damn real to me."

Detective Olivia Benson led the girl slowly and carefully back through her story, trying hard to keep her own growing horror from showing on her face. She'd read the file, read the girls' previous statement but hadn't really believed it, not in her gut. But hearing it for herself, in girl's own voice, a little shaky at times but no hints of hysteria or delusion, matter-of-factly recounting how she'd watched her thigh being cut, watching her blood flow out and down a gutter to be gathered in a bowl for God knew what reason. Gathered in a bowl by a girl named "Happy."

That's how they addressed each other, Cynthia had said, Happy, Grumpy, Dopey and so on. The seven dwarves. The man in the mask they just called sir.

Between bleedings they locked her in a cage with food, rich food, steak and fries, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, lasagna, apples, oranges, ice cream, chocolate cake, truth be told she hadn't eaten that well in… in ever. She'd tried to defy them, tried not to eat, but the food was right there and it smelled so good and she couldn't help herself.

Then they'd come and pull her out of the cage and hose her down and take her back to the altar and start over. She'd tried to run once, but they were strong, so strong, they'd just laughed and knocked her down and picked her up and carried her like she was nothing.

Then one day, after, she didn't know, four, five days, a week maybe, instead of bleeding her they'd burned the marks on her breasts and butt. And she felt hands on her throat. And the darkness came again and she'd woken up naked in an alley down by the docks.

"I can feel them at night," Cynthia said. "The marks. The brands."

"What do you mean?"

"Like they're alive or something. I can feel them, like, moving. I dunno, they're cold, like snakes. Then I turn on the light and sometimes I think they're different. But that's not really possible, is it?"

"No," Olivia said firmly, "I'm sure it's just a bad dream."

She brought out the photo books then and, keeping her face carefully neutral, watched as Cynthia identified the same girls she had before, including the two dead girls. One of them was called Sneezy, the other either Doc or Grumpy, she wasn't quite sure.

Olivia gathered her notes, handed the girl her card, asked her to call if she thought of anything else and turned to leave, the girl's voice stopped her at the door,

"When my parents get here… do I have to go with them?"

"That depends. Did they abuse you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just. Life on the street sucks, you know? But it's still better. I was just wondering, there's this place I've heard about, you hear talk sometimes, down on the square, they say that if you get into some weird shit there's this place out by Case that can help you. The Cleveland Gifted Girls home or something like that. I mean I know I'm not gifted or anything, but I thought maybe…."

"I can't promise anything," Olivia said, "but I'll look into it."

**ENGLAND**

Rupert Giles sipped his tea and stared out the window of his office and wished for demons. Vamps, werewolves, succubae, fyrals, haxils, wendigos, whatever. Oh to be a simple Watcher again. Anything was better then the endless fight to corner and quell the dreaded Pointless Bureaucrat. With Buffy leading "la dolce vita," and more power to her, no one deserved it more, and Faith doing her Lone Ranger act in the colonies he was without his big guns. Not that Faith had been that helpful the short time she'd tried to do the Council thing, but she did scare people. And he could still use her as a big stick, sometimes, since no one else could control her and Giles' still managed to convey the false notion that he could. But a stick half way around the world lost some of its effectiveness.

Bastards. Ingrates. Old Council families insisted on seeing Council money as their money, on loan to the Council like a museum display and subject to recall, New Council members concocting elaborate plans featuring the extensive training and feeding of, surprise, surprise, New Watchers. Banks pretending they could only release funds if presented with the dead bodies of Quentin Travers and several other old boys the banks knew damn well had been vaporized in the blast.

And Robin Wood trying to mount some kind of coup or alternate council based in New York.

He was tempted, damn tempted sometimes to go dig Willow out of the Coven's clutches and so what if it set her search for true peace back a year or two, a few toads hopping around some corporate offices and his life would be so much easier. But he knew he wouldn't. Willow too had earned her rest.

Of course if she volunteered… that would be different.

There was a delicate tapping, then his door opened and a shy blonde girl peered in, what'sername, that's right, Helen, the unfortunate girl with the enormous wart that everyone tried and totally failed to ignore. Maybe Willow could at least do something about that.

"Mr. Giles," she said urgently. "Did you look at the note, yet, please. I promised Mr. Harris you'd see it first thing. He said something about Willow and kippers if I didn't and I don't want to be a salted fish sir. Please?"

Right. He was going to do it. If Xander could hit people with a Willow stick so could he.

"It's okay, Helen," he said, crossing back to his desk, "I'm reading it now."

He read the note. He polished his glasses. "Oh," he said, "dear."

-30-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: You wanna play or don't ya**?

**CALIFORNIA**

Faith held up the fresh bottle of MD 20/20 she'd made Darren buy at a convenience store on the edge of town.

"Darren, it was Darren, right?"

"Yes'm."

"That was my motorcycle you smashed into the ocean, Darren. In my whole life there's only been two people who really cared for me, loved me. And they're both dead, Darren. And one of them gave me that motorcycle. I loved that motorcycle. You are so lucky to still be alive, Darren, I can't even tell you."

She handed him the bottle.

"Have a drink, a good long drink Darren. You know what I want to do with that bottle, Darren? I want to shove it up your ass. Drink. But then I'd have to look at your ass. And I bet its all hairy and pasty white and wobbly like your belly there Darren. Drink. I just don't need to see that. Drink. Drink. Drink, c'mon now, big drink, that's a boy. Now let's just spill a little on your shirt here, hell, let's just spray it all around, isn't this fun?"

"Put your seat belt on, Darren. Don't want you to get killed now and waste all that self-restraint I used up not killing you myself. Now you know what you gotta do, right, Darren?"

"Yes'm."

"I'm gonna stand over there and watch and if you don't do what I said, I'm gonna come after you, and you don't want that, do ya?"

"No'm."

"Try to hit at least two cars, Darren."

Faith took her sword and jumped out the truck, reached in the back to retrieve her saddlebags and crossed the street, stood and watched as Darren revved up the truck and drove half a block to crash into the front end of one cop car and carom into another. Then he leaped out of the truck to go running up the steps toward the Police Department of Carmel-by-the-Sea, throwing himself at the feet of the first cop that appeared.

It was perfect, just like a movie, or it would have been if the cars had exploded but that hardly ever really happened, so still pretty perfect. But it didn't help any. She couldn't even muster a grin.

Faith was just numb, had been since she'd heard the bike hit water. Couldn't feel a thing.

She turned and ran. Movement, that was the thing. Motion. She ran 'til she came to a Best Western she'd noticed on the way in, she took a room and a quick shower. She decided to leave the broadsword in the room, loaded up instead with a couple of her favorite daggers and an assortment of stakes. She called a cab.

"Take me where the action is, baby," she told the driver.

"What sort of action?"

"Surprise me."

The first place she hit had a decent band, a couple good looking guys who could dance and no vamps. She needed vamps. She moved on.

The third place she hit the band was playing some terrible smooth jazz shit and she almost turned and left as soon as she arrived, but then she spotted the vamp sitting deep in a corner, eyes closed, his left hand doing a little conductor number to the music, and again she almost left. But she needed a kill.

She crossed to his table, leaned over giving the full cleavage, out of kindness, really, a last feast for the eyes, she said,

"Wanna dance?" and the vamp, eyes still closed, shook his head gently, no.

"Ain't fucking polite, fucking refusin' a lady," she said and took his arm and pulled him up hard, slid her arm around and held him, slinking up against him, feeling the cold. His eyes went wide and he fought for a moment, but the mood was on her, the power flowing through her veins and he had no chance. She felt him surrender, and pulled him out on the floor, made him dance.

"Slayer," he said softly. "Of all the gin joints in all the world…"

"Yeah," she said. "Sucks, don't it? How does it feel to dance with death?"

"It hurts my toes," he answered, "must you wear those boots, they're most unbecoming."

"Bullshit. They're hot."

"Not on the dance floor. I suppose a last waltz is out of the question? That's the problem with slayers, they never live long enough to learn to dance properly."

"I dance fine."

"You dance like you've got a taser up your ass."

"Hey! Watch it."

"Ooooh. What are you going to do, stake me?"

"Well, yeah."

"A last request?" the vamp pulled back a little and after moment she let him.

"I'm listening."

The vamp raised a hand and waved until he caught the eye of the bandleader, the music changed, took on a steadier, slower beat. The vamp took her hand, placed it on his shoulder, put his own hand on her waist and pulled her close, whispered in her ear,

"Now, just follow my lead," and started counting off, "Ah, _one_ two three, _one_ two three _one_ two three… "

They stumbled a bit at first, but he was smooth and she was a slayer and caught on quick and soon they were gliding around the floor, which they pretty much had to themselves for the first song. Slowly other couples began to join, the music quickened, it was different, not the pounding beat she usually sought, but Faith could feel the rhythm, the flow, she closed her eyes and let the vamp guide her, let the music take her, had the first moment of peace she'd had since…. Since LA. The vamp went for her throat during the fifth song, she stepped sideways, slipped her elbow under his chin, snapped his head back, breaking his neck, she twisted and pulled his head off and found herself alone in a dark corner, covered in dust.

"Well," she said, "shit." She opened the wallet she'd hooked from his pocket while they were dancing and counted the cash. Seven hundred and change. Score.

She hit the mother lode at the next bar, caught five vamps playing tease the meat on a pool table in a back room. She dusted three in the flurry of her entrance, knocked the remaining two down and sent the potential victim scrambling back out to the bar.

"Rack'em," she told the remaining vamps, one slightly pudgy guy and tall black women who stared blankly back at her,

"What the hell are you?" the woman asked.

Faith slipped a stake out of her sleeve, threw it backhand across the room into her heart,

"Slayer," she said as the vamp dusted. "Any other questions?"

The pudgy vamp hurried to rack the balls, said, "What happens if I win?"

"I dust you."

"And if I lose."

"Same."

"Then what's the point?"

"You tell me. You wanna play or don't ya?"

The vamp stared at her moment, then nodded. "Break?"

"Go ahead."

Faith was taking aim at the eight when the vamp made his move, swinging his reversed cue toward her head and missing as she ducked and came up with a dagger in each hand and pinned him to the wall, a blade though each shoulder. She went back and sank the shot.

"Tell me," she said, "where do the real demons hang out in this town?"

"What?"

"Where's the bar with the yak's bile on tap, where a beast can get a good gall bladder, where the O pos is cheap and the AB neg is way overpriced, you follow?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"I'll torture you if you don't."

"Ah."

"Ah miss," the cabbie said when she gave him the address, "you don't want to go there."

"Thanks for the concern baby, but yeah, I do. I got business."

The driver turned in his seat stared back at her. "Miss, I don't think you understand. It's dangerous there. How much do you need?"

"What?"

"No girl goes there who isn't desperate. I can give you a ride over to Monterey, and," he paused, dug through the cash in his pouch, "maybe seventy-five bucks, that oughta get you into the city. Not that San Fran is the safest place in the world but at least you could hide."

"And you think a blow job will cover that or you wanting the whole round-the-world trip?"

"No, Miss," the cabbie said stiffly. "Nothing like that. I'm a married man."

"Yeah, so?"

"Okay, Miss, I tried. If you change your mind before we get there, the offer is still open. No strings attached. Really."

"Well, thanks anyway, but its cool. I know what kind of place it is, baby. It's where I do business. Let's roll."

Faith got out of the cab, slipped a hundred dollar bill through the window to the driver, said,

"Keep the change. You were serious about that ride to Monterey, weren't you, no strings?"

"Yes, miss, though," he waved the hundred, "I'm thinking now I need the seventy-five more than you do."

"You got a pen?… You got something to write on?" Faith wrote down a number, handed the pen and paper back. "This club," she said, "the things that run this club, they ever give you a hard time, you ever take a girl here who doesn't come back, you call this number, if you don't get me, tell them Faith sent you. Really."

The bouncer held up a hand to stop her,

"Members only," he said. Faith stared at him.

"Members only," the bouncer repeated, standing strong. She took his hand, bent it back, not too far, not to breaking, but far enough,

"I'm sorry, couldn't hear you."

"Welcome to the Bohemian Club."

There were ferns. There was oak paneling on the walls. There was a big picture window with a view of the bay. There were waiters in penguin suits. There were _waiters_. There was classical music playing discretely in the background. If it wasn't for all the demons drinking at the bar Faith would have felt seriously out of place.

She strode through the sudden lack of conversation, over to the bar where she stamped her feet and shook her hair out and spoke slightly overloud,

"You know what I hate most about vamps? You can never get the damn dust out of your hair."

"Slayer," the bartender oiled up behind her. "What can I do for you?"

"You got Havana Club?"

"Of course."

"I'll have a bottle on the house," raising her voice again, "and tell your customers trying to slip out the back that they're safer in here than out there. You know what happened to me today, barkeep?"

"Do tell," the bartender said.

"My motorcycle got totaled. I was planning on riding on up the coast, maybe go up to Seattle, have a cup of coffee, take a ride on the ferry. But now, I may just have to settle down here for awhile. It seems a pretty place, a girl could get comfortable. Course if I happened to stumble across some traveling money I might keep going, but you know, only if I could go in style."

"I'll see what I can do."

The first time the bartender came back he had a little over three hundred dollars in crumpled bills. Faith stared at him.

"Now that's just insulting. I hear there's a nice beach. Maybe I'll call some of my friends, have them come down, we'll lay in the sun all day, fry some fish in the evening. And at night, we'll go out and kill things. Sounds like a party. I'm thinking a first class plane ticket, maybe back to Boston, cause if I go up to Seattle I'll probably have to just come back this way in a month or two. But Boston, that's home. And all the way on the other side of the country, too."

Faith took the five grand, folded it up, stashed it in a pocket of her coat, took her still-sealed bottle of Havana Club and went out the front door where they were waiting for her, as she knew they would be. A half dozen vamps, something that looked like second cousin to a polgara, a snake thing and blue and green hominoid with teeth on its arms.

Now, this was what she'd come for. Okay, she'd come for the money, but she'd come for this too. She shucked her jacket, dropped the bottle, and took up her daggers, and strode forward, she said,

"Okay boys, bring it on."

**CLEVELAND**

"So what, we have some sort of blood-thirsty Fagin here?" Munch said.

They were sitting in the squadroom with Captain Maddux and Detectives Schreiner and Gonzalez of the CPD, comparing notes.

"Yeah," Detective Shreiner, a bulky balding red head, added, "sort of the Hammer Films' version of 'Oliver'."

They'd been over the physical evidence, of which there was none. If they ever found the knife they could probably prove it was the one used, but that was it. No DNA, no fingerprints, no similar MO's showed on the FBI database. Nothing from rousting the usual suspects.

"The ritual, I don't know," Benson said, "either he's a really really sick and believes in it, or he's using it to convince the girls he has some kind of supernatural power."

"Either way is sick in my book," Fin said.

"Well, psychotic or just sadistic, let's catch the bastard and do the diagnoses when he's behind bars," Stabler added.

"It all seems too organized to be run by someone delusional," Benson said. "What I don't understand is why he's letting these girls live. This girl 'Florida' has completely disappeared and there was another girl…"

"Josephine Gifford," Detective Gonzalez chimed in, "she was with the second vic when she was taken. Hasn't been seen since."

"So he either still has them captive or they're dead. None of the released vics saw anyone else under restraint so I think we have to assume that he is willing to kill. So why release them?"

"Well, let's hope it's because he wants to be caught," Captain Maddux said. "Let's get down to cases. We've got three teenage girls, taken, tortured and released. The first was simply abducted right off a bus coming in from Indianapolis. The other two were befriended then abducted by this girl gang downtown, both girls mentioned being near the bus station when they were rendered unconscious. So we're using the Bus Station as point zero for additional surveillance. To supplement increased manpower we've put in some extra cameras in addition to the traffic monitors. We don't have the personnel to watch all the footage but next time something happens we might get it on tape."

"All officers have pictures of the girls the vics picked out of the photo book, we've had several sightings, here, here and here," the Captain said, pointing to some colored pins stuck in a huge city map on one wall of the room. "All late at night. Officers have given chase but the girls just seem to disappear. Before you ask, the id'ed girls who were listed as dead, we've checked with the ME's office. In both cases the girls were positively identified. Both were murdered, violently. One's throat was slashed, the other was stabbed in the heart. Both were local and were buried by their families. It's strange, but we're working on the assumption that the resemblance is just coincidence…"

"It could be those girls were members of the girl gang who fell out of favor and he recruited look-a-likes, literally replacing them," Benson suggested.

"Leading credence to the 'he's a genuine wacko theory'," Munch said.

"Well," Captain Maddux said, "we're open to any approach at this time."

"Well, we need to check online, see if we can find any mention of this particular ritual. Hell, the perp may have his own website, for all we know," said Munch. "And we need to check occult shops, that knife the vics described seem fairly distinctive …"

"You don't seriously believe…."

"No, but if the perp does, maybe he buys supplies, or better yet hangs out and brags."

"And costume shops, maybe find where he got the masks and robes," Fin said, "Captain, I'm sure you've already thought…"

"Of course, but there's always room for more legwork, and fresh eyes, Detective. Anything else?"

"The building they were held in, apparently it was pretty big place, larger than ordinary house anyway. And the vics all said they felt like they were underground, like in a basement. None of them remember seeing any windows, even boarded up. And it was quiet, they remember hearing occasional engines, but not any really steady traffic, so they must have been transported somewhere out of the downtown area. I'm not sure where that gets us, but just be aware in case any of your other investigations takes you to a building that fits the description."

"Anything else….? Okay, get to work. And keep me updated. Let's get lucky out there."

"Oh, one thing," Benson said. "Do you know anything about the…uh, Cleveland Gifted Girls home? Cynthia,… vic 3, said something about the word on the street was that this place could help out with quote weird shit unquote."

"Umm, hang on, that sounds familiar," Detective Shreiner said, tapping at the keyboard of his computer, "ah here we go. The Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls. Took over an abandoned Delta Zeta Kappa frat house about three years ago. No trouble until five months ago when a few of the girls that live there were arrested for tipping over tombstones out at Lakeview Cemetery. They we're released to the manager of the house… Alexander L. Harris, who apparently is the legal guardian for all the girls there. I don't know if its some kind of orphanage or what, you could contact social services. Anyway, apparently Harris made some deal with the cemetery and all the charges were dropped. And that's all I got."

"A frat house," Stabler said, "probably a large building in a quiet area, could have a basement."

"Knocking over tombstones could be some kind of ritual thing."

"Seems kind of a long shot, but check it out. Go easy, if they do have some kind of rep with street kids maybe they know something we don't."

"Or they could be the perps."

"Well, that would be even more helpful, wouldn't it?"

**MISSOURI**

Renee sat on a branch and watched Xander watch Marybeth's house.

The hair on the back of her neck rose as she sensed them first, then looking down saw the two vamps approach and stop right below her, half-hiding behind her tree.

"Shit," the first vamp said. "It's Harris. We're too late. And I was so looking forward to a nice baby slayer for dinner."

"So what. He's just a human, we can take him."

"I dunno, man," the first vamp said. "If it was that easy he'd be dead by now. Besides, it ain't just him. Killing one of the Scoobies, do you really want to be known as the vamp that brought a pissed off Buffy Summers out of retirement? You'd be lucky to get dusted. Very lucky."

"Yeah, I guess," the second vamp said reluctantly, "'sides, he's probably got a couple slayers here watching his back."

"Or," Renee said, "watching yours." And then there was dust, because Renee was very, very fast.

Just to be sure, she took a quick dash around the neighborhood but sensed nothing more dangerous than couple of underfed pit bulls. She came back to her tree, climbed up, and watched.

A little after midnight, the back door opened and Marybeth slipped out.

It was scary sometimes, Renee thought, how Xander always just seemed to _know. _And annoying It took all the fun of sneaking out to meet your boyfriend if, when you came back, you found a box of condoms on your bed along with a printed copy of "Lecture 12: Slayers are Not Immune to Disease and Syphilis is _Not _Funny."

Of course, that just made it so much sweeter when you could put one past him, Caridad and Zoey were legends, gods in Cleveland house, for the time they'd got a picture of Safiya dusting a vamp, a great picture, you could see parts of the skeleton and everything. And they had a fake front page for the Plain Dealer printed up with a huge Freak Girl Slays Monster! headline and story to go with it. And got up early and substituted their page for the real one when the morning paper came.

And he'd totally panicked. He'd called Giles! Priceless.

"Marybeth," Xander said softly, and Renee brought her attention back to the events at hand. She saw the new slayer tense, then, slowly, sag.

"I'm sorry, Mr….." Renee saw Xander raise his hand. "Xander. I just had to."

"Yeah," Xander said, "I figured." He tossed her a stake. "Let's go."

And that was the difference, Renee thought, between Xander and Mr. Wood. Mr. Wood would have taken her back inside for a long talk about responsibility and duty and safety and never ever lying to her Watcher.

Xander gave her a stake. And, and this was key, Xander went with her, walking along while she bounced around him all excited, like that cartoon with the bulldog and the little yap dog, S-word and Chester.

Xander never told his slayers not to lie to him. He just made them feel really bad when they did.

Except like now, when Renee was here instead of Springfield where she was supposed to be, cause it didn't count as lying if you did it for his own good. It was a rule. It was written down somewhere. In Renee's diary, anyway.

He had taken the fake newspaper out to the workshop in the garage, and framed it. And hung it in a place of honor in the basement gym.

Stupid vamps. Lay a fang on Xander Harris and Buffy Summers would be the least of their problems.

She dropped down out her tree and ran on ahead, cause she knew where they were going. To the cemetery.

Renee spotted them first, two vamps waiting by a fresh grave for the third to rise, it was all she could do to restrain herself, but these were Marybeth's. Renee circled around, made sure there were no others waiting in ambush, positioned herself to be ready in case the vamps decided to run.

Crossbow armed aimed and ready, she watched the fight, Marybeth was strong but she was clumsy, relatively speaking, she used her fists and forgot her stake, knocking the vamps down again and again but not going for the kill. One of the vamps broke away, went for Xander, Renee aimed but eased back as she saw the vamp impale itself on the sharp end his cane and go to dust.

And then Marybeth finally got tired of pounding the other vamp to pulp and pulled out her stake and got the heart on her second try and stood triumphant and Renee fought back her twinge of jealousy as Marybeth went for a hug.

She watched as Xander made Marybeth stand still with her eyes closed, saw her sense the fledgling yet to rise, and turn eagerly standing over the grave, stake in hand. Xandered smiled and waited patiently until a sheepish grin stole across Marybeth's face. Renee watched as Xander walked Marybeth through slayer kata number 1, _stake to the chest_, made her practice the simple moves over and over and over until the fledgling broke ground.

And this time Marybeth took the vamp out in one smooth thrust. A slayer is born, Renee thought.

And then Xander turned and looked straight at her and said, just loud enough for a slayer to hear,

"Coming, Renee? MB says there's ice cream back at the house."

-30-


	4. Chapter 4

A/N See Chapter 1 for disclaimers/warnings

**Chapter 4: ALL ROADS LEAD TO CLEVELAND**

**CALIFORNIA**

Faith showered off the blood and the demon goo, cleaned out the slash on her right arm and the claw marks that wound their way around her left leg. She ripped up a towel and bound her wounds. It had been a good fight.

She opened her hard-earned bottle of Cuban rum, took a swig and savored the sweet warmth. Damn, that was good stuff. She took another long slow draught, felt the warmth spread to her belly, back up her spine. She set the bottle on the beside table, got a cigar, lit it and flopped down on the bed, clicked the remote, flipped through the channels 'til she found an old movie with what'shisface, Clark Gable, who reminded her a little of her dancing vamp. She was hungry, a little, but not enough to do anything about it. Horny, too, just a little, but same story. She drank some more rum.

Now what, she wondered. She had five grand. She had a passport, three actually, safe and dry in their watertight container. Because Wesley thought he was funny she could be Charity Wigglesworth or Hope Chesterfield. Or Faith O'Connell, that was the real one. Well, they were all real but she was Faith. She had a couple credits cards, one of her own, thank you Wes, one of the Council's, thank you Giles.

She was young, hot, footloose and fancy free, she could go anywhere. She had some more rum. Whattehell. Why not? Cuba. Jamaica. All that voodoo shit, had to be some cool demons down there.

Her cell buzzed and she reluctantly dug in her jacket for it. Shit, another detail, she was going to have to get a new charger. She checked the caller id, Giles. Shit, she'd missed her check-in call. She could hear him now, all gentle and calm, like someone trying to talk down a jumper,

Sorry to be a bother, Faith, don't mean to nag, Faith, but we get all nervous if you don't call, Faith, I'd really care about you Faith if I just had the time…

She thought for a moment of blowing him off, but then a wave of loneliness overcame her automatic defenses and she felt the need for a familiar voice and she answered.

They exchanged pleasantries, Faith fought back the urge to tell him about her watery bike. Finally Giles came to the point.

Harris was in some kind of trouble.

In Africa?

No, he'd been back in the States for about eight months now.

And nobody told me because ….

Umm, er, um, well, didn't think you'd care. But if you wouldn't mind…?

She said she'd think about it.

She drank some more rum, she thought about warm breezes, cool drinks, hot sweaty nights fighting and fucking, dancing to a little calypso. What to do, where to go, Ohio, Caribbean, Caribbean, Ohio.

She reached over to use the room phone to save her cell battery, and bought a first class ticket, San Francisco to Cleveland.

**MISSOURI**

Xander lifted a cup and took a sip of demon piss. AKA instant coffee. He shuddered. But he needed the caffeine.

Marybeth's father sat across the table, sipping his own cup.

Xander watched Renee, all bright and bushy tailed from her morning run, peer into the kitchen, see him and assume her pseudo-penitent face before slinking over to the table, sitting , giving him the lip tremble and the big wide eyes. God, it was hard to keep a straight face.

"Am I in big, big trouble, Daddy?" Renee said in her littlest little girl voice.

Xander stared at her, wondering for just a moment if she was really, really playing with him… No. No. She really had no clue, did she? Such a quick smart girl, with dead vamps and demons under her belt, but she couldn't see the evil right there in the room. Couldn't even imagine it.

She was just playing. She'd been disobedient but she'd been clever, she'd killed two vamps, she wanted her attagirls', without throwing Xander's total lack of control in his face. Xander thought he heard Giles laughing somewhere. But this was neither the time or the place for this game.

"Go, help Marybeth pack. Go," he said with the I-mean-it tone, and she went.

Xander looked over at the older man, sitting there looking perfectly normal, a little tired, a little angry maybe, but normal. Xander's rage had cooled, if only because, as he had learned in Africa, you could only stay so mad for so long before it killed you. You had to let the anger go, had to save the energy for thinking.

Earlier he had taken the man aside, made him sign three sets of the standard guardianship papers, read him the riot act, basically: Fuck with us and I'll kill you. He'd meant it.

If he had been a vamp Xander would have staked him without a second thought.

Xander lived in a sea of hormones, in a house full of beautiful, body proud girls, all ripe, budding, blossoming, etc and so on. At any one time at least five or six girls would, for lack of an alternative no doubt, be crushing on him. If he had wanted, really wanted, he could have had them lined up in the hall.

He had thoughts. Dreams. God. No man could live in that house and not have thoughts.

But you just…. Didn't. Not with children, even if some of them weren't that much younger, even if their bodies, and yeah, their minds were ready. They were in his care and you just didn't.

And yet, people did. The girl called Shad, he'd purchased her from her mother, with the tacit… Tacit hell, explicit understanding, that Xander would be sleeping with the then fourteen year-old girl. It was easier than explaining the truth. The girl had come to his bed the next night in the shabby hotel and it had taken several hours, well, days actually, of pidgin and pantomime to get the message across that he wanted a warrior, not a slave. But then, finally, when the idea took hold… maybe it was just the slayer in her but he'd seen such joy cross her face. It was one the things that made… all the other crap worthwhile.

Shad was short for Shadow, 'cause she'd followed him around like one for six months after that.

But he'd left Shad's mother untouched, left her sisters behind.

A man who molested his own daughters, you'd think that would be as bad as it gets. But it wasn't. Xander had seen worse and passed by. You could save the world. You couldn't change it.

He couldn't let Marybeth kill her father. No girl should have to carry that, certainly no slayer.

He could take them away, surely that was enough?

Had he really come to the point where he felt bad about NOT killing a man, a human?

Bad wiring, some synapses gone wrong, a little bit of DNA miscoded, a natural urge twisted, become an unnatural compulsion. Did you kill a man for that?

Marybeth had a compulsion to sneak out at night and kill vamps. Suppose she had a compulsion to sneak out and kill chartered accountants. Or republicans. Or left-handed redheads. If it came to it, he would put her down, if he had to, what made her father any different?

It's not like there was reasonable doubt. There was no doubt. He'd seen the girls' faces, heard Marybeth talk.

He knew what Anya would have suggested. Something involving evisceration. But did he really want to take moral guidance from a former vengeance demon? If Anyanka would have been all faster, pussycat, kill kill kill, does that mean that he should or that he shouldn't?

Marybeth's mom came out and sat down at the table, her eyes were red and her face puffy, but the crying was over. She seemed, calm, serene.

She sat quietly at her husband's side as Marybeth and Renee took first a load of suitcases and then the two little girls out to their father's car.

Xander stood and took Mom by the hand, lead her out to the front room, said,

"Do you want to come with us? You'll be safe, I promise." She hesitated, then shook her head.

"No, " she said. "I'm all he has now."

Xander made Marybeth's father drive them to the bus station, made him buy the tickets, made him pose, while Renee took a picture, with everyone's hands waving, clearly free of weapons or restraints. With a security officer visible in the background.

He'd given up his original idea of making it look like Marybeth had left on her own, but he wanted to do what he could to forestall any possible kidnapping charges, the last thing anyone needed was cops sniffing around the Cleveland house.

He'd felt like shit for awhile on the bus, trying but unable to sleep, his mind full of images of Marybeth's father cruising a playground, hanging out at the toy store. But as he watched the two little girls growing slowly but steadily more animated with each passing mile, giggling, playing some card game with Renee, he let the tension slowly ease out of his shoulders. He had a new slayer and he'd saved two little girls. It would do. His exhaustion slowly overtook him and his head lolled.

Later, when Jinny and Michelle tired of cards Renee introduced them to a new game, called "Draw the mustache on Xander."

**CLEVELAND**

"That's interesting," Stabler said as he and Detective Benson left behind the miasma of incense and toodle music of yet another Magic and/or New Age, Occult Metaphysical Psychic Wiccan Spiritual healing shoppe. Stabler had always thought of Cleveland, on those rare occasions when he did, as a staid, working class middle class town. Who would have thought there were so many fruitcakes living there. Might as well be in California, at least you'd get the sun.

"What's interesting?" Benson asked.

"The owner of that place was on the phone before we were even out the door. I'm pretty sure the owner of that other place, what was it, the Wicked Toad…

"The Wiccan Road," Benson corrected

"…did the same thing. Got an idea." He called in to the squadroom, got Munch. He reading out of his notebook he gave Munch the names of the stores they'd visited so far and the approximate time of each visit.

"Get with the phone company, find out how many of these places made outgoing calls right after the time we were there…."

"Gotchya," Munch said, "Gimme half an hour."

Stabler was trying to decide whether he regretted the first pierogie or wanted another when Munch called back.

"Five places made outgoing calls in the time frame, three of them called the same number."

"And?"

"Wait for it. It's an unlisted number, but we traced it to the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls. So I think they just went from long shot to top of the list, don't you?"

Benson was navigating, the street map unfolded in her lap, claiming her attention as Stabler drove. They had moved out of the downtown into a more open area when Stabler suddenly exclaimed,

"Whatthehell?"

"What?" Benson said, marking her place on the map with a finger before looking up.

"We just got passed by two girls on bicycles," Stabler said.

"So?"

"I'm going forty-five miles an hour. Uphill."

There was a short gravel driveway that circled in front of the buildings' main entrance, an offshoot curled around the building on the western end. An elderly white van and an even older pick-up truck were parked there.

The grounds were neat, grass trimmed and evenly green. The house itself was very large but unremarkable. A verandah that looked to be a recent addition ran the southern length of the building facing the street, and curled around the corner on the eastern end.

"Not exactly ominous," Benson said.

"Yeah well, appearances," Stabler said and shrugged, and strode up the steps, ignored the doorbell and banged heavily on the door, yelled,

"Police." He heard movement, voices, then the door swung open to reveal a tall black girl, taller than Stabler, thin yet well-muscled with strong features that reminded Stabler of that girl in the Bond flick with the fishhook butterflies.

Her voice was soft, deep and musical, "May I help you?"

"Cleveland PD, we want to talk to whoever's in charge here. A Mr. Alexander Harris?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Alex is not at home."

"Well, whoever's in charge then."

"One moment," and Stabler found the door slowly, politely, but firmly closed in his face. He heard running feet, the brief cacophony of female voices of which the only part he could make out was,

"Is he cute?" and then the door opened and a petite Hispanic girl stood in the doorway, looking up at him,

"I am Caridad, how may I help you?"

"Caridad … " Benson said, inviting her to fill in her last name.

"That is correct."

"What is your full name, Caridad?"

"I am Caridad, it is enough."

"Like Cher?" Benson said.

"More like Car-i-dad," the girl said, enunciating carefully. Stabler heard laughter down the hall. He looked past the girl and saw what looked like an office doorway down the hall. And thought, the hell with this, and stepped forward to do the standard brush by, well I'm in, you must have invited me, pass.

It was like running into a lamppost. He bounced, backwards. The girl looked up at him, her eyebrows lifted quizzically.

"I' m sorry, Mr. Harris has instructed me not to let anyone in until he returns. Can I take a message?"

"What is your position here, Caridad?" Benson asks.

"I am the person who takes messages for Mr. Harris when he is not here," she answered.

Benson looked over at Stabler to see he had any ideas but he was still just staring at the girl, open-mouthed.

"When do you expect Mr. Harris to return?" Benson filled the silence.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"What the hell?" Benson started when they were back at the car but Stabler held up his hand for silence,

"Turn around," he told her, "just bear with me a moment." She felt his hands reach under her armpits and lift her, he held her up, held her in the air a moment, then set her down.

"Sorry, just checking," he said. "I thought maybe I'd suddenly turned into a ninety-pound weakling or something."

"Yeah, what was that?"

"I don't know. It was like walking into a wall. Maybe some kind of martial arts trick that I never believed in, the like one inch punch. I know the vics said that the girls were strong, but that was ridiculous. She's what, maybe a hundred pounds, soaking wet. What in the hell is going on here?"

"I don't know. Why were they so calm? I mean, we get crap from teenagers all the time but you can see the fear in their eyes, see them psych themselves up. Those girls were just…"

"Laughing at us," Stabler said. "I don't know if it has anything to do with our killer, but something strange is going on and I think we need to get some surveillance out here."

Caridad took a deep breath and returned to the din of the dining room. She understood the safety in numbers concept, how good it was for the baby slayers to live with older slayers, to have someone else take care of petty details like rent and phone bills, but what she wouldn't give for just one day's privacy. Maybe in a couple days, when they got the new slayer settled she would hit Xander with her idea again, a safe house not to far away, a little house or even an apartment the older slayers could share in turns, a place to take a boyfriend, to take a long hot bath uninterrupted, to just watch a little TV alone and in peace…

She took her (temporary) place at the head the table and banged a glass until she got nearly half the room's attention and said,

"That was Xander on the phone," and waited for the rest of the room to quiet…

"Hey, I wanted…" at least three voices started.

"For godsakes," Caridad snapped back, 'you just talked to him yesterday…. Anyway, he's coming in on the midnight bus, so we need to make arrangements to meet him. Hey. Hey…….HEY! Vi and I will sort that out later. The main thing is, this means after dinner we need to really clean things up cause first, we do have new slayer, and second, Xander said if he sees dirty dishes and pizza boxes like last time there's no cable for a month…. Hey, his words, I'm just the messenger. Now, Vi, Xander said to tell you Renee is fine and he'll talk to you later…"

She waited for he chorus of "uhohs," and "You're in trouble now's," to die down.

"You had something to tell us about the new slayer?"

Vi spoke briefly, then Caridad took advantage of the girls subdued mood to assign tasks and get the work started. She was on her way downstairs to check that the spells on Clem 's Room were stable when Shad pulled her aside.

"What did Mr. Alex say about the policemen?" she asked.

"Oh, crap," said Caridad, "I forgot… I'll tell him when he gets home, I'm sure it's no big deal."

-30-


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N See Chapter 1 for disclaimers/warnings**

**Chapter 5: The Dwarves are in the Depot**

"And you were afraid you wouldn't have anything to do at night in Cleveland," Fin said.

"Quiet," Munch answered, "I need to concentrate, I think the number seven bus is about to back up … aaaaand no, just a fat lady taking her seat."

"What I want to know, if they got all those cameras down here, why ain't we watching exciting downtown Cleveland sitting somewhere comfortable with some popcorn?"

"Don't look at me, I thought I was going to Miami."

Fin checked his watch. Damn, time went slow on a stakeout. Almost over though, for today anyway, getting close to midnight when a couple of the locals were going to take over this spot and…. Wait a minute.

"Hey, Munch," Fin said, "look over there, just the other side of the waiting room door, that look like Sneezy to you?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. And hey, look who's checking out the "Welcome to Cleveland" brochures, that Grumpy? Or was it Doc?"

"I forget. But I see a couple familiar faces hanging by the coke machines. Our girls are here allright. They're waiting for a bus."

Munch picked up the radio, held down the button and announced, "We have dwarves at the depot, repeat, dwarves at the depot." He looked up and saw Fin's expression. "Well, somebody had to say it."

Detective Schreiner found Detectives Munch and Tutuola in a dead end alley about two blocks south of the bus station. Munch was pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back, occasionally stopping to peer down and gently probe a pile of dust with his the tip of his shoe. Detective Tutuola was standing at the alley's terminus, staring upwards, a couple times trying to climb up the wall and failing.

Ah, shit, Detective Schreiner thought, dreading what he was about to see. He motioned for a couple of uniforms to start taping off the alley, and went in.

"Gentlemen," he said, and the two New Yorkers joined him at the alleys entrance, "Wanna tell me about it?" They turned to face him and he sighed, seeing exactly what he had expected to see. Two cases of what he called Pension Face, the expression worn by a cop actively and repeatedly counting up the days and hours and minutes until he could retire on full benefits, something Detective Schreiner had been seeing more and more often in the last couple years. On younger and younger cops. In fact, Schreiner had identified a secondary expression seen on cops whose pension calculations went into double digits, he called it the "Screw the Pension I'm Moving to Iowa" face.

"Detective," Fin said, "Don't take this personally or anything, but I'm not saying a damn thing until I see what's on your surveillance tapes, cause I like my reputation for being the sane one. "

Xander let Renee carry him the rest of the way to the van. The leg was almost fully functional when it had to be, but he paid for it in cascading waves of pain that lasted sometimes for hours afterwards. The door slid open, Renee loaded him in, hopped in beside him and pulled the door shut and they were off.

Renee helped him up into a seat and he gathered himself, turned to face Marybeth who sat in the seat opposite, cuddling a lapful of sleeping sisters.

"So," Xander said. "Welcome to Cleveland. Never a dull moment." She was grinning at him. "You okay, squirt?" he asked Renee who nodded, grinned and turned away. He twisted back to greet the three girls lounging in rear of the van, "Mchumba, Zoey, Amber, you okay?"

"We are unharmed, Mr. Alex," Shad answered. They were grinning. Xander closed his eye.

"Renee?"

"Yes."

"I fell asleep on the bus. What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. I swear."

Xander opened his eye, looked down at her. He raised an eyebrow.

"I swear. I swear on the scythe, I didn't touch you," and Xander knew full well that that meant she'd done something to him without touching him, but his leg chose that moment to send another jolt his way and he let it go, concentrating on keeping his pain off his face. He turned back to the other girls,

"Did we get them all?"

"Of the group we were chasing, I'm afraid one escaped, Mr. Alex," Shad reported. "I do not know how many there were altogether."

"Anything noteworthy?"

"They were each wearing these, amulets, I guess they are," Zoey said, "I yanked this off the red-headed one before I dusted her."

"Well done," Xander said, reaching out to take the offered jewelry, glancing idly at the obviously occult markings, then pocketing it. "We'll take a picture and fax it to Dawn tomorrow. Anything else? Allright, full debrief tomorrow. Good job, ladies, thank you."

The welcoming committee spilled out onto the verandah and down the steps when the van arrived, enveloped him in excited chatter. He reached for his cane and….

"Fuck. Damn. Crap." Oh well. He reached down under the seat for the spare he kept in each of the vehicles, struggled out of the van, slid the door shut and turned to accept a series of quick, welcoming hugs from girls who were all smiling way too much. He looked for and found Caridad standing at the foot of the steps, looking a little subdued, though even she hid a quick grin as he approached. He laid his arm over her shoulders, gave quick squeeze, did his best Joey Tribbiani, asked,

"How you doin'?"

"A little tired, but I'm fine," she answered.

"Anyone give you a hard time?"

"No more than the usual."

"Good. Anything new?" he said and Caridad jerked her head up toward the house, Xander looked and saw her silhouetted in the doorway, making an entrance as always.

"Hey Harris," she said. She shifted and ambled down toward him, all lazy lioness stalking her prey, reached out and took his chin in her hand, moved his face left then right, "It's a good look for you," she added, "but I think the purple sideburns are a bit much."

He was still a clown, Faith thought.

She'd slept on the plane, first class, it was the only way to go. She'd arrived earlier that evening, her body rested and fresh, her wounds still vivid pink and tender but closed. She'd caught a cab to the house, her gut full of snakes and butterflies that writhed and fluttered more and more the closer she came.

There were memories here, she'd lived with Wood here for almost two months, the longest by far she'd ever stayed with one guy. It had been great at first, he'd trained with her, gone on patrol with her, it was like having a real Watcher of her own for the first time since Kakistos killed her first one. Bought her books to read, she hadn't really seen the point but he'd said she would in time. He'd taken her out to dinner and ordered for her in French. He'd bought her clothes, not really to her taste, but good stuff, not like the girly horror the Mayor had gotten her.

But it had dawned on her, not slowly, not really, Faith caught on to things like that quick, but she'd tried to ignore it. The Mayor had bought her that dress because he'd thought she'd look pretty in it. Wood bought her the slick slit skirt numbers because he thought he would look good next to the hot woman wearing the slick dress. And he did, of course.

They spent more and more time on deportment and less on training to kill vamps, the books became less about expanding her world and more about knowing the right thing to say at parties. He got careless. Forgot little things like slayer hearing. She heard him on the phone, politicking with the council, selling himself as the slayer's son who had tamed the wild Faith, claimed her as his own, an asset he brought to the table. Later in England Giles' would do the same thing but at least he was upfront about it.

She'd called him, Wood, on it.

"The difference between you and the Mayor," she'd said, "the Mayor had to sell his soul and eat spiders to become a snake."

And they were on then, shouting and screaming. He'd raised his hand to her, which in the first place, how stupid can you get, second, he of all people should have known better, she'd told him things in the small of the night….

He knew it too, the moment he raised his arm, she could see it in his face, not his heart breaking but anger, at himself, for making a tactical mistake. She'd left that night, right then, taking nothing but the clothes on her back and bus fare to LA.

That had all happened here, in the house in Cleveland but hell, it was just a bad memory, not her worst, not even in her top ten, nothing to be nervous about.

She was nervous about Harris. It was silly, for chrissake's. Harris.

But he was the only one left who could possibly understand.

Oh, she'd made peace with Buffy, but that's all it was. Peace. Dawnie was always friendly but part of the whole Buffy package really. As was Giles, when he wasn't super-council-man he was still first and foremost Buffy's watcher and always would be.

Red was all up on her cloud of earth mother wiccan mojo and had forgiven her as you forgive a careless child, but they weren't ever gonna hang. She'd never really known Oz.

Everybody else was dead.

Once in Italy this guy had closed down this whole restaurant, okay, café, just for her. Done the whole thing with the fiddle player and flowers and a line of waiters, and yeah, it was cool. But she'd hinted, just once, playfully, that she wasn't gonna put out, and seen the guy's eyes go cold with rage.

Harris had taken her to a movie just to have her company. Pathetic how often she thought of that day. Harris had given her a gift, no big deal, just this ten dollar poncho. But, no strings attached. And it was something she liked, not something someone thought that she should want. Only Angel… She stopped that thought.

The house had changed. A porch had been added, new paint, new gravel in the drive. The little things she remembered, a broken board, some missing shingles, all fixed.

She'd paid off the cab, rung the doorbell, a tall black girl opened the door and tensed a moment as slayer recognized slayer, but not recognizing her.

"Xander home?" Faith had asked.

"Mr. Alex is not…" the girl had started, but then Caridad had come out of the office, called out,

"Faith!" and Faith had seen the black girl's eyes widen, then narrow, felt her body shift into prefight mode.

"Shad," Caridad had said, "it's okay." And Shad had stood aside in the traditional non-invitation and Faith had stepped inside.

There was hug from Caridad and friendly noises, not ecstatic to see her exactly, but they'd been together in Sunnydale and that superseded reputations.

"Don't mind Shad," Caridad said, "Xander pulled her out of some African hellhole and she's a little overprotective, but don't worry, Xander will set her straight. Vi's upstairs taking a nap, I don't know if you know any of the other girls here?"

"Don't think so. So, Giles called me, said Xander had got into some kind of trouble?"

"That's why you're here?"

"Yeah, but Giles didn't say…."

"It's nothing urgent. You wanna wash up?

"Yeah, I could…"

The room Faith had shared with Wood had been divided, Caridad explained, one half split in two and turned into Xander's office and bedroom, the other half was the guestroom, Faith threw her saddlebags on the bed.

"The holy of holies," Caridad said, grinning, pointing to a door at the back of the room, "Xander's bathroom, and his PRIVATE shower and bathtub. Which has been in almost constant use since he left for Missouri. You hungry? You're lucky, it was fried chicken night and we made enough extra to cover the post-patrol snacks. Plus there's coleslaw and potatoes and stuff, just help yourself. About half the girls are on patrol now but they'll be back early, around eleven or so. The rest are on clean-up-before- Xander-gets-home duty. If you need anything I'll probably be either next door in the office or downstairs somewhere, but you know, just shout. Get yourself some of that chicken before the locusts descend and me or Vi will bring you up to date."

"Damn," Faith said, stepping into the dining room. The particle board tables and metal chairs she remembered had been replaced by a long rough hewn table and benches out of a medieval banquet scene. One wall was covered in weapons, crossed swords and axes that might be taken as fakes for display but Faith could see the edge on the steel… her hands itched for the big claymore in the center of the array.

"Xander calls it hiding in plain sight," a girl said from the far corner of the room. She was slim with delicate features, brown hair pulled back in French braid, she came forward, clearly assessing Faith. "I'm Isobel."

"Faith."

"Where are your horns and your tail?"

"What?"

The girl grinned. "It's what we tell the newbies late at night when the wind's howling, it's Faith on the warpath, seeking redemption, be a good slayer or Faith will come and take you to hell."

"Damn straight," Faith grinned, bright and hard, hiding the hurt. She turned to the other wall, stared at mural in progress. "Xena. Cool."

"Well, it's supposed to be valkyries 'cause, well valkyries are corpse gatherer's, right, and vampires are corpses, sort of, and we really didn't want to have pictures of women with their right tits cut off so we didn't do Amazons … but it is kinda coming out Xena, isn't it?"

"Well, Xena's cool."

"Yeah. It's corny, but we all kinda see ourselves that way, don't we? Except Jacquie who thinks she's Ares. Caridad said you'd want to eat?"

Isabel filled up two plates with chicken, corn, mashed potatoes, and, on Faith's nod popped them in the microwave, asked, "You want something to drink?"

"I 'spose a beer is out the question?"

"No, we got Heineken, Harp, lessee, some Coronas and a six of Old Peculiar."

"No shit, Xander lets you guys have beer?"

"Well, no keggers or anything like that, but yeah. And wine with dinner if we want it, though most of us don't really."

"Gimme a Harp then…Umm, Isobel? This… Faith the boogeyman stuff, does Xander…"

"What? No. And don't tell him I said anything either. It's an ice cream offense."

"A what?"

"Xander has three sources of power. TV, ice cream and the BBE. Like, if we're not getting all our chores done and stuff, suddenly the cable goes out in the middle of American Idol or something. If he's really mad he threatens to cut ice cream out of the budget. I mean, yeah, you can just go down to the store ourselves, but you can't keep ice cream in your room, you know, so when you want some rocky road after patrol, you're SOL, so that's pretty effective."

"Threatens. He ever do it?"

"Yeah. Once. Cause someone who shall rename nameless except for being called AMBER didn't think he would do it. But he did. For two weeks. And he bought vanilla yogurt instead and wouldn't get anymore ice cream until we finished it. Ewww," Isobel shuddered. The microwave binged and she retrieved the two plates, passed one to Faith and the two slayers dug in.

It was good.

"This is homemade," Faith said, surprised.

"Yeah, 'course, what'd you expect?"

"Frozen. Like from Sam's Club or something."

"Ewww."

Faith tried to remember the last time she'd had a home-cooked meal. She couldn't. They ate.

"What was the other thing," Faith said a little later, "you said TV, ice cream and something…"

"The BBE," Isobel said, holding up her hands in defense, like a young vamp facing his first cross, "Beware the Big Brown Eye…"

And then Caridad came in with Vi and they fixed plates as well and sat down with Faith and brought her up to speed on Marybeth and siblings.

"So there's no looming Big Bad then?"

Vi shook her head. "Not as such. It's just if the cops got involved Xander might have to take the girls and bail to keep the House out of it… Faith, you are always welcome here, but what Xander asked Giles for was another Watcher not…"

"Me."

"Yeah."

And pretty soon the patrols where returning and the kitchen filled with girls, all furtive and pretending not to stare, Caridad began making formal introductions, Faith began to have fun watching each girl's reactions, some frankly curious and staring at her, some feigning indifference, one or two were hostile, as many were clearly a little scared, all of them hungry.

"Ice cream?" Isobel asked Faith, "Triple chocolate or Rocky Road. Or, you know, both?"

"I'm in."

The girls began slowly to drift and gather at the doorway, one of the girls was on the phone with Vi in the van and was relaying updates as it returned home. Faith hung back a little, nervous again. Fucking Saint Harris didn't need her. Probably wouldn't have time for her either. Damn, just feeding all these girls was a full time job and he did more than that, she could tell by the way they all smiled when they talked about him, by the anticipation she could feel in the air as he approached.

She should have gone to the Caribbean, cause dancing in Havana she could have told herself that she could still go to Cleveland if she needed too, that she wasn't alone in the world, she still had a friend in Cleveland.

But she was in Cleveland and if she found out now that she was just another mouth to feed, that she was alone here, then she was alone in all the world.

Caridad came back, spoke softly to her, "Faith, how long has it been since you've seen him."

"Couple years at least. Not since Italy."

"I just want to warn you so you won't be shocked, he's changed some. He's got this scar on his face, on his right cheek, it really shows up cause he's so tan, he walks with a bit of limp. No big deal, he gets around, I just didn't want you to, you know, freak or anything, he hates it when people get all pity party about his scars…"

"Gotchya," Faith said.

And then he was there, outside. Faith hung back and watched as the new slayer emerged with her sisters was gathered into the fold and carried inside, watched Harris emerge from the van and saw that Caridad was wrong. He hadn't changed at all. He was still a clown.

He still suffered from chronic Hawaiian shirt disease, he let children paint on his face.

She wanted to wanted to run down and jump his arms but she was Faith and Faith didn't do that.

She waited until he looked up and saw her,

"Harris," she said, and ambled down to take his chin in her hand, move his face left then right, he had a thick green mustache and an orange goatee, "It's a good look for you," she said, "but I think the purple sideburns are a bit much."

He closed his eye and sighed and shook his head, said, "Youngin's today, got no respect."

And then he straightened and grinned wide and said, "Clint, how've you been?" and opened out his arms and pulled her in and held her and Faith knew she wasn't all alone in Cleveland and wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.

-30-


	6. Chapter 6

**6. Chapter 6: Alley Oop.**

A/N: See Chapter one of disclaimer/warnings

Also, not that he's altogether wrong, do bear in mind that Xander is not necessarily an impeccable source of nutritional or medical information.

**Chapter 6: Alley Oop.**

Xander scrubbed vigorously but it was no use. He was going to have a very light green mustache and very pale orange goatee for at least a couple days. He was going to have to do something about Renee or the youngin's really would start losing respect. Something clever but not vindictive, embarrassing but not cruel. Something.

He'd gotten Marybeth settled, let Vi and Caridad vent a little, convinced Mchumba that Faith was well over the strangling Xander habit and unlikely to relapse. And now Faith.

There was something going on with her. There had been a whole lot more than good-to-see-you in that hug. As an expert receiver of upset slayer hugs, he rated that one a serious doozy, one slayer vibrating on the edge.

He went into his room over to the little mini-bar he'd installed and with practiced ease fixed a small pitcher of gin and tonic and lime, put it and two glasses on a tray and made his way out onto the verandah where Faith waited, swinging slowly back and forth on the wooden glider, her face pink in the red glow of her cigar.

"Hey," he said, setting the tray down on the waiting table, "bad habit I picked up in Kenya. Care to join me?"

She accepted a glass, took a sip and nodded, he filled his own glass and settled down beside her.

"Tell you a secret," he said.

"Yeah?"

"It's not really a bad habit. It's health food," he said. "They say what, a drink a day is good for the heart, the lime gets you some vitamin C, the quinine in the tonic is good for muscle cramps and stuff. Plus the whole anti-malaria thing. Health food. Big glass of warm whole milk before bed. That's a bad habit."

"Tanqueray?"

"Bombay Sapphire."

"It's good."

"So, Faith," he said carefully. "How are you, really?"

She got up, for a moment he thought she was going to bolt, but she just went to lean on the railing. "So," she said, "you did all this," waving at the verandah, "the dining room and everything."

"Me and the girls, yeah. Place was kinda run down." He grinned, remembering, "Buncha slayers running around with saws, hammers and nine penny nails. Some scary shit. Sometimes I didn't know if we were putting up a porch or knocking down the building."

"Didn't the council get all pissy about using slayers for, what'sit, manual labor? I was in London for awhile…."

"Yeah?"

"One of the meetings there was this big fuss, some Watcher in Brazil was using a couple girls in a gold mine or something. They passed this big rule about slayers never doing labor…"

"Yeah, well, didn't tell the Council. Cheap bastards. I made up invoices like we'd contracted the work, billed them for labor and architect's drawings and everything. That's how we paid for the big freezer and all the modcons in the kitchen."

"Sweet. You're not worried, you get a new Watcher here…"

"It's done. It's not like they'd tear it down."

"So you called Giles, asked for a new Watcher…."

"Yeah."

"But you got me."

Ah.

"Well, I didn't tell Giles the sitch, I just told him the shit was coming. So I guess he sent the big gun."

Faith snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Faith," he said softly. "I need another Watcher here. Or four. There's all this day to day shit to do. All the food and clothes, getting the girls to school, there's PTA meetings, forgodssakes, there's patrols to organize and reports to write, hands to hold and fights to mediate. I need someone to teach the girls real Watcher shit, sigils and basic spells, demon species. It's a hellmouth. I need a Giles, or even a Wesley…. But that doesn't mean I'm not damn glad to see you."

"Yeah well, if I can help out…"

"Oh yeah, there's all kinda training you could give the girls that I can't. Caridad and Vi, they're okay, run the girls through the drills but they're part of the gang, you know. We've got a guy comes in, a real Mr. Miyagi, great guy, you'll love him, but it's not the same as a slayer...

"There's a couple demon bars in town I need to pay a visit to, but the girls aren't really ready for that yet. I got a whole list, Faith, I don't know what else you got goin' on…."

"Not much…"

"But that room is yours for as long as you want it and I won't even make you pound nails. And Faith…"

"Yeah?"

"It's not just that. It's nice just having you here. Someone to talk to, you know, out here on a night like this, someone who really knows the score. I love these girls, but with them, you know, I always gotta play a role. So, you'll stay awhile?"

"Yeah. Sure. If you want." She came back, sat down beside him again.

"I do appreciate you getting here so quick, you have to come far?" he asked. "I hear you have this badass Harley, don't let Zoey get near it or you'll find it in pieces…..Faith?"

It was like she'd been hit in the gut, she bent over, he heard a strangled sob,

"It's gone," she whispered, leaning back again, shrugging off his arm as he tentatively reached out. He watched her fight for control, she bit out,

"It was my fault. I was… being reckless, riding too fast, I almost caused an accident, could have got people killed. So the Powers took it away, sent this asshole in a truck … and threw my bike into the ocean like an old beer can. It was my fault…. " and then she broke, "but Angel gave it to me, it was all I had left, I dived in, it was all broken, it's not fair, Angel gave it me, Angel…" she tried to push him away again, but she had no strength, she was shaking, her chest heaving, she was wailing with loss and pain and clinging to his shirt and Xander wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.

"Was that a scream? Did she scream?" Benson said. "Should we…"

"Wait," Stabler said, peering through the night vision goggles, but his view of the couple on the swing was mostly blocked by the railing. "She kinda pushed him away once, but she really doesn't seem to be struggling. See for yourself." He handed Benson the goggles, rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his fists. He hated stakeouts, hated sitting there with nothing to do but think. To review the case, to picture those poor girls tied down and bleeding. To picture Maureen, Kathleen, Elizabeth. He knew it wasn't healthy. He couldn't help it. Not being able to go home, see them every night, tuck them in. That wasn't helping.

"No," Benson said, "Doesn't look like a struggle. But if this is our guy his control won't be strictly physical."

"Yeah, but if we go up there now, I don't think we could even bust him on public indecency. Damn railings in the way. Hell, for all I know, they're cuddling."

"Yeah, right," Benson said.

The radio crackled. Their replacements were in place.

Warren H. Mather III smiled as he heard the van arrive in the garage above, heard the doors shutting, heard the machinery grind, bringing the van down to the basement level, down to his own little kingdom. He stood and stretched and straightened his robes, eager to see the new treat his girls had brought him. Something petite, he hoped. Fully formed, of course, he wasn't a pervert. But he was in the mood for something delicate, tender. One that hadn't been on the street too long.

The elevator mechanism stilled, the service door rolled up and he turned in eager anticipation.

Instead of seven girls triumphant, bearing gifts, one girl, kneeling at his feet, tears rolling freely down her face,

"I'm sorry sir," she wailed, "They're all…. Gone. I don't understand, they were just girls, but … so fast, so strong…"

"Slayers," Mather said softly. Damn.

"Sir?"

"And only you survived?"

"It was my turn to drive, I was in the van. The others…. It happened so fast, I don't understand."

"I do, my pet. I do. We shall have our revenge. You are not to blame. Still you have failed me. I shall have to make do."

"Sir?"

"Go. Cleanse yourself. I shall await you at the altar."

There was no popcorn, but Captain Maddux had coffee and pastries and a bank of monitors set up at one end of the conference table and waited as the detectives filed in, followed by a striking brunette whom the Captain introduced to the New York contingent as ADA Catherine Lodge, who would be assisting the investigation with obtaining warrants and any other legal issues that arose.

"Okay, " the captain said, "we've got the video cued up that my tech guys culled out overnight. I want to walk through the video and see if between the tapes and you gentlemen who lived it we can figure out what the hell happened last night. Now you can see, we've got the video set at the time when Detective Munch reported sighting our suspects at the bus station. Detective Tutuola, if you would."

Fin picked up one of the laser pointers laid out on the table and pointed it at the screen, picked out the four girls he'd recognized.

"Good," the captain said. "Well spotted. Now, watch carefully when we run then tape back, we can trace all four girls back to this white van, plus two others. Roll it back a little further, now forward again….

"The van arrives and six girls get out, the driver stays and keeps the engine running. Unfortunately we never get a good look at the driver, but from what we can see it does appear to be another young female.

"Okay, the girls spread out, taking positions on either side of the passenger area. So it appears they waiting for a bus. Question is, are they waiting for this bus in particular, waiting for someone or just fishing? We'll come back to that. Questions, comments so far? No?

"Okay, now, a second white van arrives in the parking lot and two girls get out and….

"Wait, hold that," Detective Benson interjected. "The black girl, that's the girl who answered the door at the Girls' Home, isn't it Elliot?"

"Yeah," Stabler agreed, "and they were both in that white van when it showed up there around one this morning. So girls from the group home were there meeting the same bus. This can't be a coincidence."

Captain Maddux said. "Do you have a name?"

"Er, not for those two, no."

"Okay, we'll call them Mutt and Jeff. They get out of the van, the driver keeps the motor running. Mutt and Jeff go over to wait for the passengers, now correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't it look like Mutt and Jeff spotted at least two, maybe three of our suspects?"

"Yeah," Fin added, leaning forward, "now that you mention it, it sure does."

"Okay. Now our girl Jeff…."

"That's the short one, right?" Stabler asked.

"Yes. Our girl Jeff makes two quick calls on her cell. And… we're waiting." Maddux ran the tape on fast forward until a moving bus appeared."

"Okay, here's the eleven fifty bus originating in St. Louis and making several stops along the way …. And now her e come the passengers, couple military guys, fat lady and her six kids, maybe college guy, salesman... and here come our players, first, see the guy with the eye patch…"

"Hold it," Benson said. "He was there, too, at the Home. Sorry, go ahead."

"Eyepatch, little red-headed girl on his shoulder and, note the cane, and behind them we have a teenage red-head with another little red-head on her shoulder. Now I may be jumping the gun a little but I'm guessing those three girls are related. So, here comes Mutt and Jeff and we're all introductions and happy families, I'd say the red-heads are new arrivals at the home. Now, freeze it, zoom in. Check out Eyepatch's face."

"Whatthell?"

"Yeah, my guys were all excited when they saw that, thought they had a guy in a mask, but looking closer it seems to be face paint of some kind, though we have no idea why …"

"Could be a disguise, people will remember him, but they'll remember face paint and an eye patch, he washes his face, takes off the patch and he could walk right by them."

"Could be. Now, keep your eye on Little Lost Blonde there…."

"She's with them," Stabler said. "She shows up later in the van."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Maddux said. "So, she's just kinda wandering around looking just about as lost and alone as she possibly could be, isn't she? And our little dwarves here by the coke machines, they're sure taking an interest. So I'm thinking they were just hunting, hoping for a convenient victim.

"Now, back here on camera three we got Mutt and Jeff loading Eyepatch and the redheads into White van #2. Now, watch Little Lost Blonde. Such a big sigh, the she looks left, she looks right, she walks away… into the darkest area she could possibly find... Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"But… She can't possibly be more than fifteen," Stabler said, "You can't really think..."

"You tell me," Maddux answers, "here comes dwarves one, two, three, and four and five together, five of our six dwarves. And look here, White Van # 1 is on the move, just a little behind the dwarves. But, look here, see who's walking along, taking the night air. It's Mutt and Jeff. And White Van #2. It's a parade! And look here, who are these handsome fellas, our very own Detectives Munch and Tutuola."

"And where are we all going? To a dead end alley."

"Please tell you got a camera in the alley," Fin said.

"No, that would be too easy. We got a nice view of the entry from the north side, but not the alley itself. It is a dead end, after all. Just a space between buildings. So. Camera twelve or whatever it is. Alley entry, there goes Little Lost Blonde, there goes dwarves one through five, running, and then…."

"Then we heard a scream," Fin said.

"And there goes Mutt and Jeff into the alley, and those girls are really moving … Detective?"

"We were hearing fighting, maybe a couple shouts…"

"And here's Van #2 and there's Eyepatch, charging into the alley, and you note he's carrying his cane. And here comes Detectives Munch and Tutuola, and here's dwarf number six.

"She fucking came out of nowhere," Fin said, "One moment we're running for the alley and the next I'm flat on my face and someone is standing on my head."

"And out of chute number one, currently known as Van #2, comes yet one more girl, who we'll call Curly for obvious reasons, and Curly runs over and grabs dwarf six, and, I can't believe I'm saying this, appears to set the world record for dryland dwarf tossing and then follows after, out of camera range.

"And Van # 1 takes off. Van #2 takes off. Detective Munch finds his glasses and gets up and runs to the alley only to get a faceful of…."

"Really, really nasty tasting dust," Munch says quietly.

"And there goes Detective Tutuola and here comes the squad cars you'd called for, blocking off the alley, here comes the uniforms, guns drawn and ready. And we've got them, don't we, all trapped in a dead end with no way out but straight up a sixty foot wall."

"Except there's nobody in the fucking alley," Tutuola said, and turned to Stabler, said, "So, how as your night?"

"Let's take a break," Captain Maddux said.

Munch and Fin stood side by side in the men's room, giving their morning coffee a proper burial.

"So," Munch said, "in the cold light of day, what did you see?"

"In the cold light of day, I ain't sure. Last night in the dark I thought I saw Little Lost Blonde carrying Eyepatch up the wall like she was Spiderman and he was made of balsa wood. What'd you see?"

"Not a damn thing, I had a face full of dust," Munch said, shook, zipped and turned away, added, "but somehow I don't think we'll be seeing Sneezy around much anymore."

-30-


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: See Chapter one for disclaimer and warnings.

**Chapter 7: And a feather boa.**

Faith came awake. She sensed movement in the darkness of wherever the hell she was, and she lay still, waiting. She eased one eye slightly open saw the figure approaching, she waited, waited, it reached out and Faith rolled out of the bed, landed on her hands and twisted to land a spinning kick on the back of the figure's legs, taking it down hard. Faith came to her feet and assumed a fighting stance and,

"Wow, that was cool," her attacker said and Faith found herself staring down at a grinning blonde who did a back roll, came to her feet and held out her hand,

"You probably don't remember, I'm Renee, wanta go for a ride?"

"What?"

"Me an Zoey and Jacquie are going for a bike ride, wanta come?"

Her head cleared, I'm in Cleveland, she remembered.

"What the fuck time is it?"

"I dunno, six, six thirty, something like that."

"In the morning? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"It's nice out now. I brought you some bike shorts, well, I stole them from Vi cause I don't think mine would fit you. They're clean."

Are you out of your fucking mind, Faith asked herself, staring into the bathroom mirror. Are you actually going to go on a bicycle ride with a psychotic elf at six in the fucking morning?

She was screwed. She'd broken down and cried like a baby, curled up in Harris' arms and let him rock her to sleep. God. He'd had to carry her to bed. With the bad leg, he'd probably had one of the girls help. So much for Big Bad Faith, here comes Basket Case Faith, pull her string and watch her cry. Harris would try to help her, poor troubled slayer that she was. He would be kind, and gentle, and concerned and drive her nuts.

She had to get out of here, just grab her stuff and go.

There was a clatter and an "oops" from the bedroom, Faith opened the door and saw Renee wearing her jacket, with a small pile of stakes and knives at her feet,

"What a cool jacket, how did you get all those knives in there, those are cool stakes did you make them, where did you get the jacket, do you think I could get a jacket like this, does it have to be black, do you think I could get one that was like, red, 'cause you know red would work better with my complexion, are you ready to go now?"

There were two girls waiting in the garage, their eyes widening when Faith and Renee emerged,

"Faith this is Jacquie," pointing at a short round-faced black girl, "and Zoey," pale with black hair in a boyish cut, "and they each owe me five dollars cause they said I wouldn't dare wake you and I did. Faith, hold still, I need to take a picture," she added, holding up her cell with the built-in camera and took Faith's picture, "cool, it's only six forty-five so Xander owes me a whole box of twinkies and….."

"What?" Faith said. "Harris put you up to this?"

"No, yeah, I mean last night I was talking about how cool it would be if you went riding with us and this morning there's a note from Xander in my mail box, saying he'd bet me a box of twinkies I couldn't get you up and outside before seven and urk…."

Faith reached and grabbed her by the neck, slammed her against the wall and held her there, "Kid," she said. "Shut up. Now, three rules, listening?"

Renee nodded. "One, do not touch the leathers. Ever. Got me? Two, never touch my weapons without permission, right? " Nod. "Three, any time you win something betting on me, I get a piece of the action. Got me? A third of the cash and half the twinkies. Understood? Yah? Good." She let the girl down. "Okay, which one of these bikes is mine?"

"Any-any of those," Zoey said, pointing nervously at the rack by the back door.

"Well, let's go then," Faith said. That's better. It would be okay. And Harris was dead meat. Faith found herself smiling. It was weird.

It was nearly five minutes before Renee started chattering again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The detectives reconvened in a smaller case room, where bulletin and chalk boards full of pictures and maps and diagrammed timelines replaced the bank of monitors.

"The good news," Captain Maddux said, "CSI found these items in the alley, one gold amulet," she passed it around in a plastic evidence bag. "You'll note the patterns on the amulet match the markings that were branded onto our victims. We're having the gold analyzed to see if we can trace it that way, but there's no maker's mark or serial number."

"And we found this interesting little item," Maddux said, holding up a wooden cane. "One cane with two interesting features. First," the captain held the cane up and twisted and the bottom two feet came off leaving the main shaft ending in a sharpened point. "And the other end has been weighted, it's nice work, balanced. Could mess up your day in a hurry."

"So Eyepatch, not so much the one-eyed cripple and more the kinda guy you don't want to meet in a dark alley," Benson said, then caught herself and looked around, "If you'll pardon the expression."

"But the real interesting thing about this cane," Maddux said, "is the full set of fingerprints CSI found on the handle, belonging to one Alexander Lavelle Harris. Now, we happen to have a set of Mr. Harris' prints in the system because in his capacity as guardian of a number of teenage girls Mr. Harris has occasionally been a volunteer at the public school they attend, dance chaperone, field trips, that sort of thing, and the standard basic background check was done by the school."

"We, of course, did a little bit more than the standard check and it turns out that while Mr. Harris has never been convicted, in 1999 he was arrested in Oxnard California on a charge of Lewd and Lascivious under the name Alex Snyder. The charges apparently stemmed from a raid on the quote Fabulous Ladies Night Club unquote. Mr. "Snyder" disappeared and charges were subsequently dropped, as they were against most of the fringe participants.

"So how in the hell did a former male stripper who carries concealed weapons and goes around in public in face paint end up guardian of a houseful of teenage girls?" Stabler asked.

"Well," Maddux replied, "I think its time to go ask him, don't you?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Xander had dropped his towel and was just reaching for a fresh pair of boxers when a woman appeared beside him, gave a little sniff and turned away and spoke in veddy veddy British tones,

"Mr. Harris, I do apologize."

"No need. Willow may be all one with the universe these days but her sense of humor is still pretty basic. New Watcher, then?"

"Yes."

"My office is right through that door, if you want to wait I'll be with you in a few, fully clothed.

Xander dressed, gave his leg, which had stiffened overnight, a brief rubdown, took a deep breath, stepped into his office and seeing the new Watcher clearly for the first time, said, "So, are you evi----- I'll be damned."

"She was a my aunt," the new watcher said. "I'm told we look alike."

"Yes, well, wow," Xander said, settling slowly down into his chair, "It's been a long time but she was quite memorable in her way."

"Forgive me," The watcher said, "I am Georgianne Travers, Ms."

Xander raised an eyebrow, and she answered, "Grandfather."

"Well," Xander said, "I am a firm believer in not blaming the son for the sins of the father, but both Mrs. Post and Quentin Travers in the family tree, that's a load."

He pushed the speed dial on the phone and waited for Giles to pick up. Xander looked over at the young woman who sat bolt upright with an air of slightly martyred patience that was apparently hereditary, her auburn hair tightly coiffed, her inevitable tweed suit tailored to both reveal a nicely rounded feminine form and mark it as off limits.

"Xander, my boy, how are you?" Giles answered, clearly in a good mood. Clearly, it soon became evident, quite pleased with himself. Oh, Xander thought, dear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Georgianne Travers, Ms., sat bolt upright, exuding a calm indifference because she had been born and bred and trained since birth to do so, but behind the automatic façade her heart beat wildly.

It was one thing to stay up half the night over take-away curry and declaim about the correct way to deploy slayers when cleaning a vampire nest or demon lair, or debate the proper place of the Watcher in a slayer's destiny.

Georgianne herself could argue quite passionately on her theory of the slayer as knight errant, in need of both a squire and a patron, ie someone with the skills and knowledge of a Watcher to act as commander and guide while the lesser trained, and therefore more expendable squire attended to the slayers' more mundane needs…..

And she knew she was right but still all the fine arguments somehow faded away when one found oneself suddenly standing in Xander Harris' bedroom staring at the mounded white scars on his ribcage, how did you argue slayer management with someone who'd survived a Stavrox demon?

A defiant little voice in the back of her mind insisted on reminding her that scars were signs of failure, bad planning, of foolishness, but that voice found itself growing meek and a little squeaky actually sitting in the room with him, watching the scar's owner lounging in his chair like an insolent schoolboy, exchanging good-natured insults with Rupert Giles.

Over curry one mocked Giles as "Buffy's Lapdog" or "The American" but in his presence he was suddenly once again the hero of Smythe-Witson's epic "Our Man on the Hellmouth," and one's scorn suddenly turned to ashes in one's mouth.

And now she was on the Hellmouth. She, internally, shook herself. This would not do. She had a job to do, she had not one but two family names to redeem, she would not fall prey to schoolgirl weaknesses.

She was aware suddenly that Harris had finished his call and was watching her. He spoke,

"Giles says, 'neener neener, ha, ha, ha'."

"What!"

"Well, he didn't use those words. He said that you were bright, dedicated, and you and I would be good for each other, that I would find you bracing, and that I was to wish you luck. Pissed the old boy off, did you?"

"Well, I belong to a faction that often opposes Mr. Giles' plans for the Council. But I don't think I've done anything to draw Mr. Giles personal ire."

"Ms. Travers," Harris leaned forward, his voice changed, not threatening really, but suddenly she was very glad she was not a vampire, "We're on a hellmouth here. I've got twenty-five, now twenty-six slayers most relatively new and untrained, I've been asking, begging, demanding, whining, you name it, trying to get another Watcher here for months and bupkis.

"Why are you here? Why now?"

She blushed. She never blushed. She blushed. "Ummm, well. You do know that in the year before you took over four watchers were killed here?"

"And three slayers, but go on."

"Watchers aren't called, they have to recruited, trained, it takes longer to make a Watcher than a slayer… there's a shortage of Watchers so, supply and demand. Who wants to be Watcher to twenty-five slayers on the hellmouth in Cleveland when they could be Watcher to six experienced slayers in Naples or Buenes Aires or even Miami."

"Funny, I never saw Watchers as so much the slacker types. Aren't there any hot shots who want to come prove they can handle a hellmouth?"

"Well, yes. But you're here. And you've already handled it. No dead slayers. You're alive for longer than any other Watcher here. Anyone coming here would just get a rep for riding your coattails."

"That would be pretty pathetic…. So, once more, why are you here?"

"I … had my cruciamentum last night."

"What, I thought Giles' banned…."

"For slayers. For Watchers its different. When you finish your formal studies there's a ceremony, all candles and oath-taking, and then they bring in a captured vampire and to seal your graduation you stake it. And then there's a big party. And now that I'm telling someone it does seem a bit… medieval. So, there's a big party. And I got really drunk and made this big stupid speech. And I volunteered. Okay?"

He was laughing. The damned, uneducated buffoon in that unbelievable shirt was laughing at her…

"Well," he said, "maybe you'll fit in here after all. So, you ready to meet the girls?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John Munch felt like the little detective who cried wolf. Even if he was pretty sure that a lot the times he had cried wolf the wolf was actually there and the little sheep just never realized they'd been eaten. But this was at a whole new level.

He saw the eyes roll sometimes when he was talking, actually rather enjoyed his reputation for, shall we say, eccentricity.

But now it was biting him in the ass. If he told what he'd seen, no one would believe, at best they'd laugh, at worst they'd think he'd finally really lost it.

To be honest he was having doubts himself. But he kept seeing that girl's face… coming apart.

So, if he didn't imagine it…Work the theory.

Some kind of disintegration ray, like a miniature neutron bomb. Ergo, secret military? In Cleveland? If Fin was right about Harris going up the wall, some sort of anti-gravity device? Again, secret military? Again, Cleveland? Teenage girls? Male stripper?

Death ray. Anti-grav. Aliens? Strippers from space?

This was going well.

Some sort of illusion, holograms projected in the alley? Then how to explain the dust? Projected on the dust? Dust dropped from the rooftop, projected figures. Why? Some kind of spook show to keep cult members in line? Stripper, girls, cult, makes some sort of sense. Well, no, but more than…

Vampires. Blood-letting ritual, cult that convinces lost girls that they are vampires, or can become vampires. But if they have the wherewithal to stage a show to fool the CPD why bother with small time stuff. Maybe it wasn't small time.

_The girl's face coming apart_.

At the computer, researching, holographic projection, disintegration ray. Missing girls. Secret Military. Invisibility?

Deep deep into wacko territory. Just imagine. What if one percent, just one percent of the wacko stuff you find on the internet is true. One percent.

Whatthehell. Add Vampirism. Vampires. Jeez, what a world some people must live in. New York was bad enough, muggers, psychos, gangsters, terrorists, what if you also had to walk in fear of vampires. And demons. He read on. Demons that spewed mucous that set like cement. Demons that ate skin.

What? There's a familiar name. On some wacko's website, Alexander (Xander) Harris, demon hunter. With his pointy stick?

Okay, it's just a character in some online role-playing game run by somebody called Andrew the Wise. Still, what are the odds?

And here's another site, Alexander (Xander) Harris is actually one of a group of aliens whose crash landing on earth caused the Sunnydale crater, and subsequently escaped after disguising their damaged space ship as a school bus.

Munch looked up. Detective Schriener was standing beside him with a sympathetic wry grin on his face. He shook his head, said,

"That way madness lies." And he handed Munch a small plastic bottle with the word BAYER on the side.

Munch took five.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Odafin Tutuola stood on the roof and looked down into the alley. It was a long way down. Or up. He walked the roof, looking for signs of ropes, grappling hooks, pitons, anything. Nothing.

Odafin Tutuola sat with two teachers who had agreed to come in to meet him, the vice-principle and one of the counselors at the Hillside High School. The vice-principle was insisting he needed a court order if Fin wanted to see school records.

"And if it comes to that, I'll get the order," he said, "right now I just want your impressions of the girls so we can determine if a fuller investigation is needed. Do they seem …violent …?"

"I admit , we were a little worried when they first came, the girls would all hang out together. They didn't really have any gang insignia or anything but they called other, what was it, killer…

"Slayer," one of the teachers said.

"Right, slayer. Sounded a little, ominous, you know? But nothing really came of it. There was a couple fights, but we called Mr. Wood, he was their guardian then, and then we didn't have any more problems."

"We had a little trouble, a few fights after Mr. Wood left, but since Mr. Harris came we've had no trouble."

"You haven't seen any signs of abuse, then?"

"Well, the girls do sometimes have bandages for a day or two, but the injuries seemed more consitent with athletic endeavors than abuse, besides they didn't have that beat-down look abused kids have…"

"I think It's the martial arts they do. The girls some times play around at lunch, you know, my karate kick is better than your karate kick, a couple times I thought they were really going at it but when I went over they just bowed to each other and laughed. Here," the counselor dug through her desk a moment, came out with a business card and made a copy for Fin.

He read aloud, "The Sleeping Tiger School of Martial Arts."

"Yes, I'm thinking I should send some of my troubled students there."

Fin was just about to get in his car when one of the teachers called out his name, came hurrying up to join him.

"Detective, I didn't want to say anything in front of … Well, there's teachers and administrators and never the twain shall meet, really… Let me tell you a story. Last year when school started one the African girls….

"African girls?"

"When Mr. Harris came he apparently brought a number of girls from different African countries, I suppose some sort of scholarship program. They're lovely girls, they certainly bring a little bit of fresh air into the classroom. Detective, you asked about abuse. I've read some of those girls' essays… Some of those girls come from terrible places, where I think they were, in one form or another abused. But not by Xan… Mr. Harris. I've been doing this a long time, you learn to see the signs. They're just not there with these girls. Whatever you're investigating, please be careful. Don't fix something that isn't broke."

"You were going to tell me a story."

"Oh, right. First day of school last year, one of the African girls, Jacquie, brought me a little cake. Where she's from, you're expected to bring a little something for the teacher. It's how they're paid. Now, Hillside isn't the inner city, there's worse schools, but even if the administration doesn't want to admit it, we do have some gang activity, some pretty rough characters. They don't run the place but … we coexist.

"Jacquie gives me the cake and one of the gang leaders starts laughing, really kind of riding her. The next day, too. The third day, the gang leader, he brings me an apple. Since then, every Monday Jacquie would bring me a cake or some chocolate. And every Monday the four meanest baddest dudes in the school would each bring their teachers an apple. When school starts up again next week it's be first time I've ever kind of hoped I get one the gang leaders for homeroom. I kinda got used to that apple. You draw your own conclusions, Detective."

Detective Tutuola was standing in the office of the Sleeping Tigers Martial Arts School when his cell rang. It was Munch,

"You learn anything?"

"I learned how to disable a black belt with my tongue."

"Yeah? Male or female?"

"Male. This kung fu instructor, he goes to teach at the Girls' home twice a week. I asked him if he thought Harris was abusing the girls. He starts giggling. Then he starts giggling and wheezing and now he's down on his back giggling, slapping the floor and laughing his ass off. Maybe literally."

Detective Tutuola came into the squadroom and sat down next to Munch. Munch handed him the aspirin bottle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Detective Olivia Benson was starting to worry a little about her partner's health. Specifically, that his head would explode.

Just the idea, the one guy living in the house with all the underage girls was suspect, and got Elliot worked up.

And the night before, the groups of girls coming out of the house and just running off into the night, even if he was legit, what was he doing letting the girls run around at night like that?

And then this morning, learning that he was some kind of sex offender, albeit minor, but that probably just meant he'd learned his lesson and not got caught anymore. In Stabler's world, once a pervert, always a pervert. In Bensons' too, she just wasn't quite so sure about this one. She had watched the van unload… if he did control those girls it wasn't through terror.

But she'd been fooled too often by happy facades to have any illusions. The idea that that horrors happened behind the bright fresh-painted walls preyed on the mind.

And if it was all innocent then they'd have nothing to hide and she and Stabler could move on.

They'd parked, blocking the gravel drive, and gone up to the front door and knocked, heard female voices inside, one calling,

"I'll get it, I'll get it," and the door swung open to reveal a girl they recognized as Little Lost Blonde,

"Detectives Benson and Stabler, here to …"

"Just a minute," the girl said and shut the door with a casual wave of her hand. Stabler had been ready this time, he'd stepped forward, had a foot inside and he'd just been ejected like an overdone poptart. He looked closer at the door, it was steel, must be on a spring of some kind.

Inside they could hear the girl's voice, "Hey, Xander …. Xander."

They were starting to think about going around the back when the door opened again to reveal a slim girl with short dark hair,

"Badges," she said and they held them up for the girl's inspection and suddenly they were gone. And the door was shut. Benson felt the urge to laugh, looked over at Elliot and decided not to. They waited. Stabler banged on the door again, waited, banged, yelled police, began to think about going around back when the door swung open and he was there, eyepatch, Alexander Lavelle Harris and he wasn't quite what they'd expected.

The eyepatch seemed to be real, he had nasty looking scar running across his right cheek, vivid against the deep tan, the colors on his shirt were truly startling but that wasn't the unexpected part, that was the rueful grin and air of casual good nature as he handed back their badges, said,

"Sorry about that, Detectives, but it's a dangerous world, can't be too careful who you let in," and stepped back leaving the door open and Stabler quickly stepped inside, Benson followed. Down the hall a couple girls stood like sentinels, watching.

Harris turned, and favoring a stiff right leg in a looping walk he led the detectives into a small, rather bare office, a desk with computer and phone, table with all-in-one fax printer etc, a couple of cheap file cabinets. The chairs in contrast were high quality, leather, Harris flopped down into the big one behind the desk and waved at the three others but Benson and Stabler remained standing.

"How can I help you?" Harris asked. He smiled. He offered them coffee.

It was _maddening_.

They were used to denials and defiance. To lies, to evasions, to long spiels of BS. To rage and vitriol. To whining, crying, pleas for mercy. They were used to the more intelligent suspects who immediately lawyered up.

Indifference they didn't run into so often.

They suggested he go downtown with them, he shrugged, didn't think he'd know anything downtown he didn' t know here.

"C'mon," Stabler said, friendly hand on his shoulder, "It won't take long, we'll get this all cleared up."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, why would you be under arrest?"

Silence. Raised eyebrow, slight smile. Silence.

Indifference and immunity to silence.

Great tool of interrogation, silence. Goad the suspect, push a button, sit and wait, people have the need to fill the silence, explain, justify. Harris just sat waiting.

They said they were looking for missing girls.

He said he wasn't missing any girls.

They showed him pictures of the dwarves. He looked, he shrugged. He sat and waited.

He picked up the phone and started to dial and Stabler put his finger on the bar and closed the connection and Harris didn't even blink. He held up his hand, demonstrating it was empty, reached slowly into his pocket with two fingers and retrieved a cell, dialed a number and ordered five pounds extra carrots and ten pounds of cabbage and how was the zucchini this week?

So what do you do here?

I live here.

And the girls, what do they do here?

They live here.

Why do they go out at night?

Exercise.

Isn't that dangerous?

I'm not the one that's missing girls.

Stabler sat on desk, leaned in, leered.

So what's it like, living all by yourself with all these girls. You have a different one every night? Or is it a big group thing?

And when did you stop molesting your daughters, detective?

Stabler grabbed his shirt, slammed him back hard into his chair. Benson saw something flicker in Harris' eye, but it faded and he simply lay slack, waiting for Stabler to release him. Benson heard the office door open slightly behind her, saw Harris waggle his hand discretely and the door closed, Stabler released him and stepped back, breathing hard.

"You know what I think?" Stabler sneered, "I think you're a pathetic little man who's afraid of women, of adult women and has to prey on weak and helpless little girls…."

And Harris began to laugh, not faking either but a real shoulder-shaking can't hold it back laugh. Benson was sure that she heard the laughter echoed down the hall.

Stabler and Benson shared a look, she opened her briefcase and took out a file and laid the pictures of the victims on the desk, close-ups of the cuts, the ligature marks, the brands.

Maybe you won't think this is so funny.

She read aloud the grislier parts of the victim's statements.

He sat and listened, leaned forward and looked intently at the pictures, holding a couple up to the light and peered with clinical interest, asked,

Have you identified the brands yet?

What?

I have a friend who's an expert in these matters, if I could fax her a copy of the brands and the description of the ritual she might be able to help.

What is this person's name?

Charming as I find you both, I think I'll spare her your attentions.

We could hold you for obstruction.

Are you going to let me fax the picture?

Of course not.

Then I'm not the one doing the obstructing. If you really wanted to get this guy you'd take help wherever you can get it.

Do you mind if we look around?

Yes.

Afraid of what we might find?

In the bedrooms of twenty-five teenage girls? Absolutely terrified.

Can we a have a list of the girls who live here.

No.

Why not?

None of your business.

Why don't you let us decide that?

Why would I do that?

Because we're the police.

So?

What's in the basement?

None of your business.

Benson thought they had him once. It was her turn to get in his face,

Do you dance for them? Maybe we've got it wrong. Maybe you're not the master here, maybe you're the little boytoy, earn your keep the way you did at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club of Oxnard California?

His eye widened then all right.

Finally, a weak spot. She picked up a file, read, one count of Lewd and Lascivious, Alex. Or should I call you "Snyder?"

No, don't do that.

What happened Alex, you go a little too far on stage, actually hump the drunk lady in the second row? Or did you just get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time? You want to tell us about it?

He broke then. Or at a least the indifference did, he smiled and shook his head, said softly, "No power on this earth."

He sighed, he turned and looked at her.

"You know," he said sadly, "I've got a birthday coming up. I was thinking I'd get, you know, a couple of nice shirts. Maybe a framed photograph or two. Maybe a couple DVD's. You know what I'm going to get now? Twenty-five g-strings and a feather boa."

**-30-**


	8. Chapter 8

**8. Chapter 8: Faith waxes eloquent**

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimers/ warnings

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 8: Faith waxes eloquent**

Benson and Stabler kept it up for two hours.

They tried the "we're just trying to help you" ploy. They tried "you'll feel better if you get it off your chest." They tried "if we have to get a warrant to search this place we're going to really tear it up."

They asked him what happened to the girls in the alley?

He shrugged. What girls? Which alley?

They tried Stabler getting in his face and shouting while Benson slapped the back of his head. They tried Stabler rubs the pictures of the victims in his face. They tried "we're gonna throw you in a holding cell and call you short eyes." They tried Benson insults his manhood. They tried Benson gets in his face while Stabler smacks his head. They tried Stabler grabbing him and shoving him up against the wall, but that was mostly because Stabler couldn't help himself.

Then they did it all again.

They stepped out into the hall and conferred in whispers under the watchful eyes of the hall sentinels.

"Hi," Benson said, "What's your name?" and got no answer and "Can I use your bathroom?" got a curt nod, no.

They gave up. Benson went back into the office, Harris had his bad leg up on the desk, stretching to reach his toes, speaking into his cell phone. He handed her a lawyer's card, held the phone up between them, said,

"Detective Benson, as the legal guardian of the girls living here I am notifying you that you are expressly forbidden from speaking to them without either myself or my attorney present, understood?" Benson nodded, picked up her briefcase and stared at him a moment, turned and left.

They stepped out onto the porch, Benson took a deep breath, looked over at her partner, asked, "You okay?" He nodded and they started toward the steps when a throaty voice called out just loud enough for them to hear clearly,

"Hey five-oh, c'mere a sec. It's okay, you can talk to me, Xander's not my daddy."

They looked and saw a brunette taking her ease in the wooden glider, languid, just as feline as she could possibly be. She was wearing painted on leather jeans, heavy boots, a tank top that looked like it wanted to reach out and touch someone. She had what looked like a week old knife wound on her arm. She was smoking a long cigar and grinning in a way that just immediately pissed you off.

Benson bit back her irritation. "And you are?"

"Faith," the woman answered. "Just Faith, like Cher only more like Faith. Tell me, what do you guys do for fun, basejump? Naked hockey? Russian roulette? Cause obviously you're into some serious extreme sports."

"What do you mean?"

"Being mean to Xander where his girls can hear you. Man," she shook her head in mock awe, "that's living on the edge."

Faith came to her with feet sudden and surprising grace and both Stabler and Benson stepped back, hands automatically reaching for their sidearms. She stopped, lazily raised her arms up to press her hands together, did a pirouette, said in falsetto,

"Don't shoot, ossifers, I'm unarmed."

She turned back toward the street, raised her voice, called out, "Shadow, Zoey, Renee and Isobel, get your asses back here now." She turned back to the detectives, "So," she said, "SVU."

Stabler started, "How did you know that?"

"Maybe a little birdie told me. Maybe I just smell the shit on your shoes." She raised her voice again, "Shad, Zoey, don't make me come and get you," and after a moment two, then three, then a fourth girl appeared, riding bicycles, two arrived from the east, two from the west, they came and stood in a line at the foot of the steps, staring daggers at the detectives.

Faith spoke, more gently now,

"These are Detectives Benson and Stabler, they work sex crimes in New York and their souls have suffered in the line of duty. So we are going to forgive them, just this once, for they know not what they do. Ya got me?" The girls nodded, reluctantly. "Zoey, have a look at the detectives' car, would you? Make sure the engines not gonna fall out or anything."

Stabler turned to watch one of the girls start toward their car, Faith snapped her fingers, pulling his attention back.

"Come on now, be cool, she didn't do anything dangerous, just a potato in the exhaust or something more high tech, maybe, but nothing fatal. Look," Faith paused to knock some ash off the end of her cigar. "I know you guys have seen some shit, had to wade in the sewers. I grew up in the shit. Cops didn't do anything for me when I was in it. Maybe you would have. Who knows? Thing is, I been there. So I know how if you live in the shit long enough it gets inside you. And everywhere you go, you smell shit, even if there is no shit."

"You guys just spent almost two hours with Xander, if you don't know by now he's a good guy, you damn sure oughta quit your jobs."

"He's hiding something," Stabler said.

"Sure he is. Lots of things. But a bloody altar in the basement isn't one of them and you know it."

"How…." Benson started.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Detective. We have… interesting …waddyacallit when you can hear sound, like everywhere in a place …..?"

"Acoustics."

"Yeah, could be, anyway, we all heard every word. We know that you're trying to stop some nut job who rapes and tortures girls. That's why we're gonna let you call Xander a pervert and walk out of here with your testicles intact. Well, that and because Xander told us to."

And then Faith's voice changed, the smoky rasp turning icy, Benson felt a sudden trickle of fear run down her spine,

"But just this once. Cause I know you like it."

She turned on Stabler. "I know you. You're a bully and self-righteous asshole born and bred, you can't help it. If you were a cowboy you'd be an asshole cowboy, if you were a balloon salesman you'd be an asshole balloon salesman. But you're an SVU cop so you can tell yourself it's okay, you're being an asshole to save kiddies and puppies and damsels in distress... And maybe you're right. Ain't singing no sad song for the short-eyes and the pervs. But how many people you slap around and they didn't do it?...

"Cause that's the part you really like, isn't it? Getting in people's faces when they can't fight back, shoving them against walls, putting them in cuffs, that's what gets you hard. You just found a way to get your fun and keep it legal. They say rape is all about control. I say there's about _thismuch _difference between you and your perps. Maybe that difference makes all the difference. Hell, I'm in no position to judge."

She turned toward Benson, "As for you I figure it's like beer. First time you taste beer, not so good. Sour, nasty stuff. But you get a little buzz. So you try some more. After awhile you get to like the taste. Smacking some skel in the back of the head, telling some scumbag all about how he's a pervert and you're not, feels good. You get to see it, move right in close and watch their eyes the actual moment some loser realizes his life just became a cage. A little power, a little control. Hey, been there. Hell, I'm there now. And you know, fuck the head games, cause **_why_** doesn't really matter, does it? Cause even B. gets it right sometimes, in the end it's only about the power," and Benson and Stabler felt themselves forced back against the wall and pinned like butterflies on display, and Faith was suddenly about eight feet tall, or so it seemed,

"A warning, promise, threat, whatever, you can come and talk anytime, but treat my friend Xander with respect. Anymore attitude and I won't call the girls off, I'll help them bury the bodies. _Capisci_?

"And a little advice. Maybe you'll do your thing and catch your guy and it'll be cool. But if you find yourselves feeling like tourists who took the wrong off ramp and you're wandering around lost where it's dark and scary… then if you _really_ want to stop this guy and save some girls, then you'll come and ask for help. Because you are not the meanest mother in the valley. Not by a long shot."

And then they were moving, frogmarching across the porch and then flying down the front steps to land in a heap at the edge of the gravel.

"Oopsie," Faith's falsetto squeaked behind them. Benson rolled over on her back.

"That's the woman Harris was making out with last night, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Stabler answered.

"No wonder we didn't phase him. You want to go arrest her for assaulting an officer?"

"Yeah. I do. Right after SWAT gets here."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"He's not our guy," Benson said.

"He's our guy," Stabler said.

"Oh, good," Maddux said. They were meeting in the case room after a late lunch.

"He's exactly what we are looking for," Stabler argued, "He's a charismatic leader with apparent total control over a group of extraordinarily strong young girls, he has a deformity that would explain his wearing the mask during the ritual, he has control over a large building with a basement, in a quiet area. He wasn't at all shocked or disturbed by the pictures of victims, in fact he seem fascinated…"

"That's just it," Benson said, "the way he looked at the photos. Let me show you …. Damn it to hell!" She had reached into her briefcase and pulled out a handful of file folders, now filled with blank paper.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith was fellating a twinkie.

Ms. Georgianne Travers, her stylus hovering just over her PDA, hesitated. She had pledged to herself many MANY times during the endless hours she'd spent wading through the typically tedious prose of the Watcher diaries as part of her studies, pledged to herself that HER diaries would sparkle. Her diaries would not just report dry fact but capture the colorful details that would bring the events to life. Faith's …. performance was certainly not a dry fact. Ms. Travers knew for certain that many if not all of her colleagues at the academy would have found that detail riveting. Still.

Ms. Travers was slightly irritated that Faith was only, as it were, caressing the confectionary, in an attempt to attract Mr. Harris' attention. Ms. Travers was irked to notice that she had been successful. But what really bothered Ms. Travers was the sudden, entirely inappropriate, urge she felt to compete for that attention, and the realization that she had no idea how to do so. Not that she felt herself to be in any way unattractive or sexually inadequate but ….. Faith.

"Faith, please," Harris finally said, "do you mind? You're making me…." beat "…hungry."

Ms. Travers smiled, pleased. Score one for Mr. Harris. She reconsidered. Still, it was not like she was short of material.

Ms. Travers was having a very strange and wonderful day. She had started the morning with her head in the commode, a detail she had easily decided her diary could be spared, and now here she was, on the hellmouth, an integral part of the team.

There had been the chaos of the introductions. Harris had led her into the dining room, rapped on the table for attention and introduced her as the new Watcher, and as the girls had chorused the now traditional "Are you evil?" she had felt a perverse sort of pride that her aunt was remembered.

She had met slayers before, socially at council functions, seen a couple fighting demonstrations. She had never seen a roomful of them attack an all you can eat breakfast buffet before. She had made a note to inform Mr. Stibbins, in accounts, that Harris was not, in fact, padding the grocer's bill.

She had sat and nodded and tried desperately to work out a mnemonic system to match names with faces while girls came and went, introducing themselves, a system that had gone completely out of her mind when Faith had appeared and Harris had called her over and she'd come through the crowd like a great white through a school of makos, and suddenly stopped short to stare.

"Her niece," Harris had said.

"Evil?"

"No," Ms. Travers had managed to assert.

"Okay then, no funky gloves and no bullshit about Spartans and we're five by five," and she'd turned to Harris, said "_You _are a dead man," and Ms. Travers was forgotten. She pulled out her PDA, the sentence already forming in her head,

"The first time I encountered the legendary rogue slayer Faith, she was threatening to kill her Watcher…"

"Hey," Harris had answered Faith , "the joke was supposed to be on Renee. I expected to find her tied up and stuffed in a closet…"

And then a girl had announced that the police were at the door and suddenly the chaos was gone, Harris was standing and barking out instructions and girls were moving with swift purpose. The red-headed slayer and her two little sisters were bundled away somewhere out of sight. Travers had followed Harris downstairs and watched him touch an otherwise unremarkable spot on the wall, speak a brief incantation and the wall slid open to revealed a bank of security monitors and workstations, two girls slipped into seats in front of computers, attached earpieces and sat waiting. Soon another girl came running back with the policemans' badges in hand and the girls at the computers took down the information and began working, soon they were briefing Harris on the two cops' records and personal information.

And then they were back in the dining room where the girls not otherwise occupied waited, Harris had called for attention.

"Let it play," he said. "It may be nothing, it may get nasty but let it play. I mean it." Then she'd had seen his body seem to sag and go soft and he turned and went down the hall and she'd heard him greeting the detectives.

For awhile she had sat with the others in the dining room, feeling the rage gathering in the air like a change in barometric pressure, gradually she realized that while she could hear the mumble of voices the slayers could hear every syllable and didn't like any of them. Then one of the girls had pointed out she could listen in downstairs and so she did and was soon only aware of her own anger.

And then it was over and Harris came down and set two girls to copying the stolen files and then Ms. Travers moment came.

She'd had fantasies of course, of her first assignment, arriving just in time to correctly translate a warning, to call out to an embattled slayer just the exact information needed to save the day, _"**A silver blade beneath the ear**," she would cry out, throwing the needed weapon for the slayer to catch and drive home to kill the demon and avert the apocalypse._

This wasn't quite that dramatic, but she'd been tested and come through. Harris had dropped a golden amulet and a copy of the file on the table in front of her and said, "What do you make of this," and she'd been immediately able to say,

"That 's the Mark of Saqāliba."

"Tell me." She'd told him what she knew off the top of her head.

And then Harris had called a meeting in the dining room.

"The good news is that the cops didn't seem to know anything about Marybeth, this visit was about something else entirely," Harris said. "Bad news is, there seems to be a new nasty in town. Volunteers?"

And all the hands went up. One of the girls left and came back shortly with a small wooden box and brought it to Harris who pointed to Ms. Travers and told her to pick five. So Ms. Travers and reached in to find small wooden plaques, she pulled five and read the engraved names and as the selected girls gathered round a girl carrying a stack of copied files asked,

"Do we send Dawn a copy?" and Harris had said,

"That's up to Ms. Travers, this one's her baby. Think you can have briefing ready for the group before patrol, say eight o'clock?"

"Yes, sir," she'd said.

"Xander," he'd said, "I'm your colleague, not your boss." He'd given her shoulder a squeeze and gone off to take a shower.

He'd showed up later downstairs in the inadequate but not totally useless library (it did, after all, have access to the watcher's growing digital archive) and asked her if the girls could take a break. She had of course nodded, when they'd gone he'd settled down in the chair across from her, said,

"Giles said you know your stuff. So I figure you know your stuff. But don't hesitate to ask for help, me, Dawn, Giles. If you think Robin Wood can help, give him a call, I don't care. We all make mistakes. Just don't make them out of pride."

"I can handle this," she'd told him. "And actually, you know, if the girls have other things they'd rather do I can do this alone."

"Of course you can," he'd answered. "But that's not really the point, is it?"

Ah.

He asked, "Is Willow sending through the rest of your clothes and stuff, or do we need to rustle you up some duds?"

"What?"

"For patrol. I know Giles used to wear tweed when he went on patrol with Buffy, but he never wore a dress. At least not that I know of. I'll have to ask her. At the very least you'll want to change those shoes."

"Patrol?" she'd squeaked.

"Yeah, I figured you'd want to go out with the girls a few times right away, get to know them, get to know the city."

"Of course."

He'd reached into the bag he was carrying, pulled out a box of doughnuts and set it in front of her,

"Better grab a couple now," he told her, "when the girls get back they'll vaporize. Don't forget to take a break yourself, all work and all that."

And then there had been the utter strangeness of dinner, with the girls all gathered at the table, their plates heaped with lasagna and bread, the room reeking of garlic and olive oil, and not eating, waiting until Faith had whispered, "Now,"

And all the girls had whipped out dollar bills and started waving them in the air just as Harris came through the door, closing his eye and shaking his head as the laughter echoed in the room, along with calls of "Take it off," and "Shake it baby."

He'd sat down and waited until the giggling slowed and spoke to her, said,

"It's encouraging, isn't it?"

"What is?" she'd asked.

"How many young people these days would rather eat plain yogurt and read an improving book than eat ice cream and watch TV," and suddenly all the dollar bills disappeared and the room grew so quiet you could hear forks cutting pasta.

"What…?" she started, but Harris shook his head.

"Some things," he said, "you poke with a stick. Some things you don't."

So now, as the last girls were trickling in, carrying crossbows and stakes and Ms. Travers gathered herself in preparation for making her very first official act as a Watcher she closed her PDA and decided, firmly, that Faith and the Twinkie was one colorful detail posterity would have to do without. Not really the highlight of her day.

She thought of all her so-called friends back at the Academy, gathered round to bid her farewell, and grin, and laugh at her caught by her own drunken arrogance and sent to ignominious Cleveland while they contemplated their choice of postings to Ibiza or Berlin. Well, screw them, wouldn't trade places for the world, she had something they never would.

_Xander Harris brought me doughnuts_.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"That's just my point." Benson was arguing. "He's a pro. The way he looked at the pictures, he wasn't excited, he was interested, he was studying them, looking at details. He put up with our interrogation for two hours just waiting for a chance to swap the files. And he told us nothing. He's a pro."

"A cop?" Tutuola asked.

"I don't know. A cop. A spook. "

"Demon hunter?" Munch said quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just something I came across in my tour of online wackoville."

"Maybe military, that eyepatch is genuine, so's the scar on his cheek. Look, I'm not saying I understand it. The whole thing with the girls, I don't know. And I agree with Elliot that this Faith did time somewhere. I'm not saying the whole thing's kosher, I'm just having trouble picturing this guy carving up girls in a dark basement."

There was a knock on the door and the ADA Lodge came in, and was brought up to date.

She shook her head.

"Technically that cane is an illegal weapon. I will if you want me to, but I'm not eager to go into court and charge a crippled man with carrying a sharp stick. You could pull him in, book him, maybe keep him overnight at best, but if he's got a halfway decent lawyer, as I expect he does, he'll be out before his fingerprints dry. And you already have those. As for this Faith, well, if you're going to charge her with an assault on an officer the judge is going to want to know why you didn't arrest her immediately."

She looked up at the two detectives who decided that moment was a good one to spend studying the evidence boards.

"As for the files, he'll either claim he never saw them, or say you dropped them on the floor and can you prove otherwise?"

Another knock and a uniform poked his head in, "Package for Detective Benson."

She took the envelope, opened it and of course her files were there, and a note, she read,

_"Dear Detective Benson, _

_Having reviewed the enclosed materials I must inform you that it is imperative and urgent that you place the victims in some sort of protective custody. The "brands" suggest that the attacker believes he has marked them as his property which he will most likely try to reclaim. Be aware that he may have implanted an hypnotic suggestion that may cause the victims to attempt to return to him of their own volition._

_Do try and understand that this is merely an educated guess and information provided strictly in order to aid your investigation, and is in no way a threat of action on our part. _

_We are not the bad guys here, Ms. Benson. But if you cannot simply accept my assurances, please review the enclosed additional material before considering any further hostile acts toward Mr. Harris or any other person associated with Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls._

_I must say Mr. Stabler is particularly photogenic. It is perhaps fanciful of me, but I must say, in the third picture, the one where he has Mr. Harris pinned against the wall, he looks positively demonic, don't you think? _

_Sincerely;_

_Georgianne Travers_

_Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls"_

Detective Benson looked down and saw ADA Lodge glancing through a series of eight by ten pictures, clearly stills taken from good quality video, shaking her head.

"I rest my case," Detective Benson said. "He's a pro."

Captian Maddux answered her phone, cursed, said, "What, when," then turned and addressed the room,

"Victim three has disappeared."

**-30-**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Like a brat hot off the grill.**

A/N: See Chapter one for disclaimer/warnings

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**Chapter 9: Like a brat hot off the grill.**

At least she wasn't cold.

Or at least she didn't feel cold. She knew she was cold because she could sense the heat emanating from the living as they walked by and she could reach down and feel her own skin and it wasn't the same. It was cold.

She knew what she was now. Her mind was clear.

The master had had her fooled. With all the chanting and the bleeding and mystic smoke and the mixing of the potion. All bullshit.

It was all bullshit but the blood. Only the blood mattered.

There was a drug, had to have been a drug, she wasn't stupid enough to have been fooled otherwise.

But her head was clear now. She knew what she was.

She'd heard rumors, talk on the street and didn't believe it. 'Cause, _come on_.

But her heart wasn't beating and she was still walking along, NOT seeing herself in shop windows, she craved blood… and oh, yeah, she had these _fangs_. She reached her hand up and felt her face for the umpteenth time, felt the fangs, felt the lumps on her face, she wondered if it looked cool or just… lumpy.

This no reflection thing. Sucked.

She concentrated, the fangs went in, her face smoothed, felt normal to her hands anyway. She wondered if she was totally pale or had glowing red eyes. Probably not. The other girls, in normal face, had simply looked a little pale. Their vampire faces … well, a couple had looked pretty cool, the others, kinda lumpy. She wondered how that got decided.

She'd said it. _Vampire_. She wondered what else was true. Next thing you knew she'd meet an honest man and a whore with a heart of gold. Ba-dump.

She felt her face again. The fangs were out again. She'd found she could stay in "normal" face as long as she thought about it, but when she lost concentration she slipped back. She hoped that would change with time. She thought she was getting a little better. She practiced, thinking, despite her best efforts not to, "The fangs go in, the fangs go out, the worms play pee-knuckle on your snout."

Now that she was going to live forever, maybe she'd finally learn what the hell a pee-knuckle was.

Cause that was part of the deal, right? Live forever? Cool. Except she didn't really know what to do, you know, the rest of the week. What was she gonna do for, like, ever?

Still, it was better, being dead. She wasn't cold. She'd been cold all the time on the streets. Except when she was hot. She was still homeless but that didn't matter so much when you weren't cold.

She wasn't afraid. She was strong now. Let some asshole try to rape her now.

She was a little afraid. Something was out there, stronger than she was. The night she … left the master. Her turn to trail the hunt and she'd leaped down on those two cops, something had grabbed her. Something STRONG had picked her up and thrown her and she'd ran. Her street instincts kicked in and she ran without looking back, she flat out ran through all the back alleys and shortcuts she'd learned running from the cops, and she'd got away. She'd heard it for awhile, following, but it had missed one of her turns and the sounds of pursuit and faded, but she'd still run. And run. Hardly got tired at all.

It was better, being dead. She was a little nervous but not really afraid, not shit-scared terrified like she'd been every night she was alive. She wasn't afraid, she wasn't cold.

She _was_ hungry.

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"I have to go. He's calling me. I have to go. Please. He's calling me!"

The girl strained against the straps holding her on the bed.

"She was climbing the walls, literally," the doctor told Detectives Munch and Tutuola, "we had to sedate her. In fact, I think we need to again after you talk to her or she's going to break her arms. Try to be quick."

"Amy," Munch said, "can you hear me?" And she turned toward him, her eyes wide and pleading,

"Please, he's calling, I have to go to him, please, you have to help me."

"Where do you want to go, Amy?"

"To him. He's calling me."

" Where are you going to meet him?"

"I have to go to him, he's calling."

They tried a little longer but got nowhere. They left the room.

"Hypnotic suggestion?" Tutuola asked the doctor, who answered,

"Not really my field, but I've never heard of hypnosis having an effect lasting anywhere near this long, or this powerful.

"This is more like extreme OCD but that's usually something that builds over time, this behavior seems to have come out of nowhere. One moment she was fine, a little traumatized still, but not showing any signs of a breakdown and the next minute, what you see there. To be honest, I have no idea."

"We could just release her and see where she goes," Munch said as they left the hospital.

"Yeah, assuming she knows where's she's going. Gotta figure for the other two girls he was waiting for them. Probably not too far away cause no one was watching. But now…. We'd have to stay real close, no way he'd show. And if we stay back… well, who knows what could happen. He could just shoot her from a distance if he thinks she does know something."

"Yeah."

"The brass wouldn't go for it anyway. If we lost her, heads would roll."

They took a walk around the hospital, looking for white vans, anything that looked hinky, without really knowing quite what that would be.

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A cartoonist would have drawn a black cloud over Stabler's head. Maybe with a little lightning.

"He has to be part of it," Stabler was insisting, "How else did he know? You gonna tell me he's psychic? He knew cause he was taking them himself."

"We've had a car out there all day. No one's left the house."

"So he has a partner."

"Why not just take the girls then. Why tell us? "

"Just too late for us to do anything about it."

"We were in time for one."

"Maybe his partner screwed up. Look, that place is just wrong. They have to be hiding something or why go to all that effort to set us up? We _have_ to get inside there."

"On what grounds? Enough," Captain Maddux said. "We have nothing on them. Everybody we talk to says the sun shines out of Harris' ass. They have pictures of us assaulting a suspect, though I'm telling you now if the shit hits the fan I'm blaming overzealous New York cops and sending you home. So, for now, we're going to just back the hell off the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls. Now, what else do we have?"

"That's just it, Captain," Benson said. "They're all we've got."

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He was cute. He was more than cute, he was beautiful. Tall, broad shoulders, dimple on his chin, walking along in his perfect suit talking on his cell, like one of the models in the fancy shop windows downtown, the kind of guy she could never even think of approaching, she stepped forward,

"Hey mister," she said and saw the disgust on his face as he reached into his pocket, retrieved a quarter and threw it at her.

She dodged the coin and grabbed his arm, spun him around and threw him down in the deeper darkness at the base of building, then she was on him, hand on his chin pushing his head back, exposing the neck and,

_**Oh God**_.

It was like fresh strawberry ice cream, like a hit of JD right after you open the bottle, like a brat hot off the grill with German mustard and onions, it was all good things to eat ever, it was like fire in her veins, filling her with his heat as she drank, as he fed her, his pulsing heart literally pushing the blood into her mouth.

And then it was beating slower, she could feel him trembling beneath her, and then she had to nurse at the wound, pull the blood out, suck out the last drops as he sagged and stilled beneath her, and she sat back, trembling herself now. She reached down and closed his eyes, caressed his hair, still so pretty. Ah, well.

She sat back, stood. The night seemed brighter somehow, the air crisper, the sounds sharper. The master, that bastard, he would have denied her this, fed her on short sips of blood gone cold in the potion bowls.

_NOW_ she was a vampire.

She had needed this, her first feed.

She wanted another.

"Hey, hey, where do you think you're going," a voice called out, she whirled, searching, searching, finally looking up and seeing the young man perched on the fire escape…. Scratch that, young vampire, about her age, a little older maybe, nineteen, twenty. That's how he looked anyway, maybe that didn't mean anything anymore.

"You can't leave that there," he said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, because I live here. If you're going to wave a red flag and dance around in the moonlight going '_Here slayer slayer,'_ don't do it under my door, thank you very much."

He jumped lightly down to stand beside her. He was wearing jeans and a black silk shirt open over a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Black curly hair reached down to his collar, he a had tiny little soul patch. He was kind of cute.

"You are fresh," he said. "Sire didn't even stick around to give you the basics. Thoughtless bastard. Okay, pick it up."

"What?"

He nodded toward her late meal. "Look, first rule, clean up after yourself. Well, first rule, don't make a mess, but if you do make a mess, clean it up. Vamp can have a nice time in this town, but you gotta keep a low profile."

"Why?"

"Pick it up. Go on, you're strong now, remember?"

And she was, it was easy, she bent, pulled it up, draped it over her shoulder, the guy started off walking and she followed.

"Why keep a low profile. Van Helsing gonna stake me?" she asked.

"That bonehead. Hardly. But the slayers will getchya if ya don't watch out. Hold it a sec," he held up a hand, took a few steps forward, stopped and listened, waved her forward. _Drama queen_, she thought.

He led her on a couple blocks, then down an alley to a manhole cover. He reached down, lifted and shifted it aside, she moved to dump the body in.

"Hang on." He stripped off the dead man's watch, searched through his pockets and pulled out a wallet and removed the cash which he counted quickly and divided it in half, one set of bills in each hand, "which do you want, right or left?" He asked.

"Both. My kill," she answered.

"You were gonna toss it. Shouldn't give you any."

"Okay. Left," she said and took the bills. "You got the watch."

"You want it?"

She shook her head, "Not really."

"Shame about the suit but, not really my style. In it goes."

She dropped the body in the hole. She thought she heard movement. The guy slid the manhole back and they started away. Yeah, she could definitely hear movement. And bones crunching.

"Yeah," the guy said, "Pretty cool, huh? Pretty damn efficient. Feel free, just be careful, not too often and, you know, be discrete. I'd hate to lose it."

"Yeah," she said. "Cool."

He was looking at her, he reached out and took the edge of her shirt and wiped her chin.

"You're a bit of a mess, you know, why don't you come up my place, get cleaned up and I'll show you ….."

Oh, for Christ's sake, she thought. Men. _Males_. They're all the same. Beyond the fricking grave and they just want one thing.

"Hey, easy," he said, "it's not like that."

"Yeah, right," she said and began striding away.

"Hey," he called after her. "Jimmy."

She stopped, turned, looked at him, "Carla," she said and turned and ran.

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Mather open the door and welcomed the bedraggled woman in,

"Cynthia, my dear, you made it, do come in."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"A hot bath, some soup, a good nights sleep, how does that sound?"

"Wonderful, sir."

"Good, good. We're going to have such fun, Cynthia, you wait and see, such fun."

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He got away.

She'd picked another handsome one, after all, why not? She'd waited outside the health club, chuckling to herself at her little pun, health food at the health club, _ha ha_, she'd waited as a couple of the big musclebound guys went by, not really her taste, _ha ha_, and then he came and she knew he was the one she wanted.

She laid down and cried out to him, "Help me mister," and when he leaned down she'd gone for his neck. And missed somehow. She'd been going a little slower, she'd thought to savor this one, she'd hesitated, and bit and missed his neck and sunk her fangs into his shoulder, still a taste explosion to be sure but it didn't have the same shocking effect on her victim and he fought back, which had surprised her. Shouldn't have, really, now that she thought about it, but it had, and he'd wriggled free of her teeth and punched her face, knocked her on her ass, shouted,

"What the fuck you little bitch," and for a moment she thought he was going to attack her, but then apparently he saw her face, turned and ran.

She'd caught him, two steps and a leap and she was on his back and biting into the back of his neck and he was screaming like a little girl, like a little girl with really good lungs anyway, then suddenly she had been pulled back and Jimmy was there,

"Do you have a fucking dust wish or what?"

She turned, her meat was getting away.

"Fine, follow me or stay and be staked, your choice," and he'd turned and ran, and after just a short moment she went after Jimmy, running hard to keep up until suddenly he stopped in front of a boarded up storefront.

"Give me your shirt."

"What!"

"Oh, for gods sake," he said and ripped her shirt off and began hurriedly using it to rub the blood off her chin and neck, then bundled it up and threw it down amongst some trash at the buildings base, and he'd banged on the weathered plywood, shouted,

"Hey morons, free virgin blood party at Willy's place," and someone yelled back,

"Fuck off you stoner freak," and then they were running again, two blocks more where Jimmy leaped up to the firescape and began scrambling up and on her second try she made the leap and scrambled after. Then on roof he'd stopped and held up his finger for silence and peered back down the street. Then he'd slipped off his black silk shirt and wrapped it around her and together they hunkered down behind the short rooftop wall and peered over the edge,

"Now watch," he'd whispered.

They waited, waited. She was just beginning to wonder if this whole thing had been some bullshit scheme of Jimmy's, when he pointed, whispered,

"There, see her," and she hadn't at first, then suddenly she did, saw the girls, two of them gliding silently through the various honks and squeaks of the city at night, trotting down the center of the street, heads up, peering into the darkness.

"And over there," Jimmy said, and pointed and she saw two more girls … _stalking_, there was no other word, stalking down the street two blocks over, and Carla felt a shiver run down her spine.

And then suddenly the girls seemed to catch a scent, hear a sound, something, they all turned as one, facing, Carla suddenly realized, the boarded up storefront where Jimmy had dumped her shirt.

And then the girls were running, too fast for Carla to track them all, but she didn't have to really, because already they were gathered around the store. A white van pulled up and came a stop a little further down the street and a man and two women got out, the man walking strangely, Carla peered and realized he was leaning on a cane.

"Holy shit," Jimmy whispered. "It's old one-eye himself."

And then one of the four original girls disappeared behind the store while the other three took up positions in the front, there was strangely still moment, then a crash from the back of the store.

And the plywood front burst outward and vampires were spilling out into the street, only to look up and see the three waiting girls close in.

Carla was frozen. It had happened so fast. _Vampires_. **Dust**. She was cold.

"Don't fucking move an eyelid," Jimmy whispered through clenched teeth as the man and two women came forward to talk with the girls.

Carla could hear laughter.

And then the group had turned, the four girls joining the three others in the van which started up and turned and was slowly gone, Jimmy sighed and rolled over on his back.

But Carla still couldn't move. In her mind she saw the four girls, _slayers,_ catch the scent and turn as one. She saw dust.

Jimmy sat up, he was tugging at her, "Hey, baby, what's wrong, it's over, all over," and Carla realized she was crying. "What's wrong?" Jimmy asked again.

"I just thought the fear was over," Carla said softly, "I had just thought that I would never be scared like this again."

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Munch came awake and fumbled for the phone, "Yeah, Munch," he grumbled.

"Detective John Munch?" a voice said.

"Yes?"

"This is 911 Dispatch. You'd asked to be notified if we had any reports of attacks by girls or attacks involving biting?"

"That's correct."

"Well, I got a double hit for ya. The vic's at the Shoreline Med Center emergency room."

"May I?" Munch asked.

"Sure," the guy said. " Help yourself."

Munch pulled up the edge of the bandage and stared at the two deep puncture wounds centering an oval of smaller teeth marks.

"What happened?"

Munch listened as the guy, big guy, toned, told how he'd leaned down to help this girl and she'd attacked, bit him, strong, freaky strong, something wrong with her face, got on his back and this other guy had pulled her off…

"So I'm just hauling ass, I don't know what the fucks going on there and I don't want to, you understand?" Munch nodded. "And I go flying around the corner and nearly slam into this guy, I mean, I'm having a real weird night here. First the girl and now this guy, looks like villain in a pirate movie, eyepatch, scar. Got this girl with him, all black leather, biker chick, except hot, and the chick slams me up against the wall, not rough or anything, just holds me. And then the guy is looking at my shoulder and nodding, like he sees two chick bites every day before breakfast, and he's telling me it's cool, I'm fine, and he reaches into this leather satchel, comes out with, I shit you not, an antiseptic spray that stings like a bitch, let me tell you, and this bandage, he peels off the back and slaps it down on the bite and it's so good that when I get here the nurse takes one look and asks me how come I'm coming to the emergency room if I already been to a hospital."

"How did you get here?"

"The guy, and his chicks took me in this white van, did I tell you there was this other chick, all the time this is going on she's got this notebook or pda thing and she's asking me questions about the girl and where she ran and stuff and talking on a cell at the same time…"

"Did you get their names?"

"No, they brought me here and I got out of the van and turned, you know, to thank them and stuff and they just took off. Do you think I'll need rabies shots?"

Munch said, "I have no idea."

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Faith carried the new watcher down the hall toward Xander's bedroom. I'm going soft, she thought, fast. At this rate I'll be cooing at puppies and buying a stuffed animal to sleep with by the end of the week.

She'd been quite prepared to hate the bitch. If Faith wasn't careful that face that very damn near doubled for Mrs. Post's, brought on a bad case of the "_What if's_" which wasn't the girl's fault, but so what. Life, not fair. Plus the snooty accent and nose-in-the-air attitude, what's not to hate?

AND she was already making cow eyes at Harris. But then they all did, didn't they?

Who would have thought, back in the day, Xander Harris, ladykiller? They'd made a couple stops before starting patrol proper and she'd seen it. He'd put on a decent shirt for one thing and that made all the difference.

Decent shirt, eyepatch, scar, silver-headed walking stick he'd chosen to replace the lost cane, the shoulders that had certainly filled out, that grin. The girl in the magic shop they'd stopped in had wet her panties, literally, sometimes slayer senses had their downside. The clerk at the drugstore pressing the change into his hand, in the street heads were turning. She didn't think he noticed. She watched. Wood had made her hypersensitive to guys who kept too close an eye on the mirror, especially the mirrors in ladies' eyes, but she should have known better with Harris. He probably just figured that giggling and twirling their hair was just what non-slayer type women did all day.

So Faith had been ready for a little I'd-hate-you-if-I-could-be-bothered-to-notice-you action, but then Ms. Travers had stood up so very earnestly to give her first pre-patrol briefing and given a twenty minute talk on the history and use of brands and tattoos in binding spells, followed by another fifteen minutes on _Sally's Baby_ or _Ali's baubles_ or something like that and Harris had had to slide his chair back so he could sit behind her and give everybody the stink-eye to stop the giggles. And Faith herself had betrayed the very core of own nature and confiscated a paper airplane.

And then Travers had brought out a big marked up map of Cleveland and begun to explain how, based on her statistical analysis of reported slayings, she had determined an optimal patrol plan and Harris had had to move in and explain that the evening patrol routes had already been worked out. Mostly using a system of darts and blindfolds to maintain a random quality, but she expected Harris would break that to her gently, over time.

She'd managed to borrow camo cargo pants, an over-sized tee-shirt and cross-trainers from the girls, and she'd still be at the rack choosing a stake if Harris hadn't simply handed her one and dragged her out the door.

And then of course they'd run into the lucky escapee and wiped the nest and she had been so excited, bouncing around the van with her little pda trying to get each girl to give her blow by blow of each slay and being totally befuddled and a little hurt that the girls were much more involved in debating whether left-over lasagna was better cold or reheated.

So you could be very very annoyed with her, but hate her, not so much.

Then Travers had dozed off at the table and practically face-planted in her bowl of French vanilla and so here they were, walking down the hall, Faith carrying Travers and Harris going ahead to open the doors like they were mommy and daddy putting baby to bed and didn't _that _feel weird. And scary.

Harris was saying something about moving Travers into his room, he would move downstairs and sleep in Clem's Room 'til something better was worked out, and Faith said wasn't there an open room upstairs and he'd said yeah, but he wanted to keep the upstairs just for slayers.

So Faith offered to move up there herself, and he'd said no, he meant just for the girls, a space free, except for the occasional emergency, of adult supervision, and Faith had to take a moment to digest that, because if there was one thing she'd never considered herself to be, it was adult supervision.

"If you'd do the honors," he'd said nodding toward the bed while he crossed to gather and take his G and T fixings out into the office. Faith began to undress the exhausted watcher and thought about simply going back to Harris and telling him not to be stupid and go downstairs but move in with her now since they both knew damn well that's where they were heading.

But for once Faith didn't want to hurry. She had been alone and angry for so long she wanted to stop and savor the sudden sense she had of being home, maybe for the first time ever.

And she had to get it right. _Just Friends_ was out the question, she knew from the twisting in her gut and the itching in her fists at each twirl and giggle, that she couldn't stay and watch him hook up with some other woman. But she had to get it right, if she couldn't make it last with Harris….

She looked down at the Travers' pale body, so fragile stripped of its tweed armor, and thought, someone's hitting the gym, starting tomorrow. And someone's going to learn to keep her damn cow eyes to herself.

And she slid the blanket up and tucked her in.

The phone in the office rang and Harris answered, "Yes?"

Faith cocked her head and listened to the unfamiliar voice on the phone,

"Mr. Harris?"

"Yes."

"The girls in the files, with the brands, you know who I mean?"

"Yes."

"Two of them have disappeared."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"The third one is in the hospitable, chained to a bed and insisting someone is calling her."

"Yes?"

"Can you help her, Mr. Harris?"

He paused a moment, then said, "Yes."

"She's in the secure section of County General, room 309. There's one cop on the door, two security guys on the floor, steel bars on the window. Two rent-a-cops patrolling the grounds, will you need help getting in?"

"No. If this is some kind of set up there will be hell to pay."

"No setup, Mr. Harris. Just help the girl. Please."

And then he was standing in the doorway, leaning on the jam and sighing.

"Wake her up," he said, "I'll get Caridad and Jacquie."

**-30**-


	10. Chapter 10

-------------

**10. Chapter 10: Ob-la-di, ob-la-da**

**A/N:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimers/warnings

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**Chapter 10: Ob-la-di, ob-la-da**

They'd done the morning workout.

They'd had lunch.

A bunch of the girls were watching a dvd in the rec room.

Xander was with Ms. Travers in the office trying to con her into doing as much of his paperwork as he possibly could.

Zoey was in the garage fixing bicycles.

Amber, Melanie and Safiyah were in the basement trying to get through a whole set without breaking more than three or four guitar strings and maybe even, just for once, not one drum.

Renee was playing a board game with Shad, Marybeth, and her sisters.

Caridad was studying, Vi was on the phone with her boyfriend.

Faith was bored.

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"Elliot," Detective Benson said, "We have to rethink this whole thing."

They were sitting in a rather large but still quiet Chinese place Detective Shreiner had recommended. So far, so good, the hot and sour soup, always a good indicator, was really excellent. Wasted on Stabler though, he'd already downed his bowl and Benson was pretty sure he hadn't tasted a drop.

She was a little bit worried about her partner. She knew how he could obsess, torture himself with the idea that someone out there was suffering because he'd missed something, could let the anger that was always bubbling inside him cloud his judgment.

Normally when he got into tunnel-vision mode something external would pull him out. He'd go home, see his kids, come back on center. Or they'd get a break on the case. But he couldn't go home now. And this case….

She fought back a yawn. She'd been called at four a.m. Amy, the branding victim had been attacked while strapped down in her hospital bed, wasn't making much sense and they thought maybe a female detective…

Her own anger was at a pretty high pitch by the time she'd reached the hospital, how could this have happened, under police protection, it's almost like we held her down.

But it turned out that "_attacked_," wasn't quite the right word.

The brands had been removed. The doctor said there were needle marks that suggested that a local anesthetic had been used. A sharp instrument, presumably a scalpel, had been used to remove the skin containing the branding, a powder still being analyzed but apparently containing an anti-coagulant had been applied to the wounds, covered by an anti-bacterial cream and a lightly taped gauze pad.

Nice work, the doctor had said.

"It was Harris," Stabler said. "I checked with surveillance. At two a.m. the white van leaves and they decide to follow. White van goes a mile to a convenience store where a girl goes in, buys a pack of breath mints, and drives back to the house, where the surveillance team sees the truck is gone. Truck returns about three thirty with Harris and three girls, including our Miss Leather. We need to get more than one car out there."

Our Miss Leather. Benson had spent far too long the night before playing, _what I shoulda said to her was_…

Benson had long ago made peace with her methods. With Elliot's. It was a dirty, hard business they were in and you had to play it that way. So maybe she went a little far sometimes, maybe Elliot did too, the guilty had it coming and the innocent, well if a little rough treatment in interrogation was the worst thing that happened in their lives, they should count their blessings.

The methods didn't haunt Benson, but mistakes did. Better to step on a few toes and get the right guy then be all sweet and get the wrong one. Or no one at all.

"She was _happy_, Elliot," Benson said of the girl in the hospital. "She was a little loopy from the sedatives, but she was ecstatic. She said she had been visited by angels and now she was free. I think we have to consider that, whatever the hell Harris is, we have no evidence that he's a killer or a sadist. And that means someone else out there is."

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"Check this out," Jimmy said. He dug in the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a baggie and pipe. He filled the bowl, lit up and sucked hard and pulled the smoke in deep, and held it.

And held it.

And held it.

"Cool, huh," he said, grinning, as tiny tendrils of smoke began so escape from his nostrils.

"We can still get high?" Carla marveled.

"Sure. There's a little something extra in the mix, but sure." He filled the bowl again, handed her the pipe. She took a deep hit and held it. It didn't even burnher throat. She just felt her head begin to float a little and she giggled and lay back on Jimmy's satin sheets and stretched. She decided she loved satin sheets. The whole live forever thing was feeling a whole lot more doable if there were satin sheets and guys like Jimmy who knew just what to do on them. She held out her arms and pulled him in. Again.

"You hungry?" Jimmy said, after.

"Yeah, but…."

"Let's go then."

They shared a quick and giggly shower and then dressed, Carla hesitated at the door. She felt safe here in Jimmy's apartment, cozy behind the blacked out windows and double-locked door.

"It's okay," Jimmy said. "You gotta go out sometime. Don't worry, I'll take care of you, show you the ropes."

"But its still daylight."

"Yeah, I know. Let's go."

They stepped out into the hall, Jimmy set the alarm and locked the door and they took the elevator down to the basement, from there to a service tunnel that eventually opened on the RTA.

They came up in a long low bar, a little dim and smoky but not too bad. There were vamps and … creatures …. there, a few at the tables, a couple at the bar, all contemplating a beverage container of one kind or another, conversation was low, desultory, a slow afternoon. There were even a few humans. Johnny Cash on the jukebox, so that was cool. Jimmy led her up to the counter, greeted a weasely looking man,

"Hey Willy, this is Carla."

"Jimmy," the man answered and nodded at her, "what can I get you?"

"Carafe of AB neg and warm it, you still doin' the chicken fingers?"

"Always."

"Okay, medium basket of fingers with O-pos sauce."

"You got it, Jimmy."

He led her to a booth in the back, went to feed the jukebox, slapped himself in the forehead and waved her over to help him pick the songs. By the time they were done the food was ready. Jimmy collected and paid, came back to the booth and poured her a glass, she took a sip.

It was good. _But_.

"I know, " Jimmy said, "but you gotta kind of save the kills for special occasions."

She looked at the strips of breaded and fried chicken, "What about these, are they…."

"Just for fun. Something to munch on. Just like McDonald's or whatever, no nutritional value whatsoever, but at least now it won't make you fat. Besides, its all about the sauce." They ate. Jimmy explained,

"There's a few places you can go where people will actually pay you to suck out a pint or so, but generally the customers, not the most attractive people in the world, you know? There's basically two ways to get fresh blood without a kill, one, you make it look like a mugging, you hit them over the head, cut them with a knife so you don't leave fang marks, and drink, just not so much that you kill them or make them real weak or anything. And of course, you take their money, so bonus."

"And the other way?"

"Cocktails and pussywallows, depending on your preference."

"What?"

"Again, as long as you don't drink too much, bite a human on the genitals and mostly they just want to forget it ever happened. Although, I had a friend, she used to do what she called a two-fer, she'd go down on the meat and right when he came she'd bite. She had a few walking meals that would come 'round on their own like once a month. Humans can be very, very strange."

"Your friend," Carla asked, "is she…"

"Dust. She was careless."

"Jimmy," Carla asked, "If I did, you know, the cocktail thing. Would you be mad? You know, jealous?"

He stared at her. "You're joking, right? That would be like... like being jealous of a chicken finger. But you give another vamp a BJ, that's a whole 'nother issue, got me?"

"Got you."

"Good. Now, for those occasions when, you know, you just gotta have a kill, two things. Pick a victim that won't be missed, and have a good disposal system…"

The door to the bar's street entrance slammed open and a dark haired woman in leather jeans strode in like she owned the place, Jimmy reached out and grabbed Carla's arm,

"Just be cool, baby, just be cool."

"**Slayer!"** Willy said loudly, "Long time no see, **Slayer**."

"Yeah, Willy," the woman said, "I think everybody knows I'm here. Thought you'd be retired in Florida by now."

"Home is the Hellmouth, Faith, what can I get you?"

"I just know you got a bottle for me."

"Havana Club, right?"

"How nice. You remembered…. Willy."

"Yeah."

"This bottle's been opened. You know I ain't drinking anything in here I don't break the seal myself."

"What! No. Oh. How 'bout that. Don't know how that happened, I've got a fresh one in the back."

"Happy trails."

The woman, Faith, lit a cigar, leaned back against the bar and surveyed the customers, Carla stared down at her table, knees trembling, sure she could feel the slayer's eyes drilling into her.

Willie came back with a bottle and a glass and Faith poured herself a drink, drank, said, "Who picked the tunes?" and Willy pointed.

Oh, god, Carla thought, but Jimmy just nodded and Faith nodded back, said, "Good choice."

The slayer sat the bar, smoking and chatting with Willy and one of the demons at the counter until she finished the cigar, then she capped the bottle, slipped it into her pocket, slammed her hand down on a table with a crack like a pistol shot, said,

"Listen up. Two things. **One**, got some joker going around putting brands on girls, binding spell thing called _Sally's Balls_ or something like that. Drop a dime on the bastard and maybe there's something in it for you, like maybe we don't stake you on sight for a day or two. Maybe even a little more if the info is really good. I still got the same cell number so I know you funny bastards got it written on the pisser wall about a hundred times or my friend Willy here knows how to get in touch. **Second thing**, I got a fright job, need one beast with muscles and one or two with good visuals, cause I don't want anyone actually hurt, got me?" She stepped forward, "You there, with the snakes, do your thing. Not bad. You busy tonight? Got big plans?"

"What's it pay?"

"It pays I don't cut your head off next time I see you in the street." She paused. "And fifty bucks if it comes off right."

Another voice asked, "This deal with you or cyclops?"

The room went still.

"Who?" Faith said softly.

"Mr. Harris. This deal with you or Mr. Harris?"

"This deal is just with me, the info is for both of us. You, you look strong. And I could use another frightener. Thank you." She pulled out a map and spread it on a table, "Gather round children."

Finally she left. Jimmy reached over and tousled Carla's hair.

"And now you've seen Faith the Vampire Slayer in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. See, you can make it. Just be smart baby and you can live forever."

Later, after the sun went down they went out and saw a movie, then stopped in at another bar Jimmy knew for nightcaps, Jimmy introduced her to the Pacific Sunset, raw egg floating in tequila and o-pos.

And then Jimmy took her home to his apartment and his satin sheets.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mather beamed at his girls. It had taken some effort, some skill, certainly some perseverance, he had started with street kids after all. But they looked fine, fabulous, straight off the runway gorgeous…

Okay, if you looked closely, at their eyes, maybe, something in the purse of the lips, they still had the hungry look, the frightened look, they looked like call girls, but very high class. The sort of girls who were always welcome in the circles he was endeavoring to enter.

He told them they were beautiful, for he knew they liked to hear it, he caressed his remaining vampire, told her,

"I know you can't see it sweetheart, but trust me, you are a vision."

He showed them the pictures again, one last time and they nodded, assured him they had the faces memorized.

The machinery cranked and the door opened and he walked the girls over, helped them in to the white van, and approached the driver,

"This is a big night, Detective, please don't disappoint me."

And then he closed the door and the van was gone and there was nothing he could do but watch and wait.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Georgianne Travers sat in the remodeled office feeling quite pleased with the world. She had her own desk now. She had modestly demurred at first but, as Xander … she called him Xander now, after spending most of the day with him calling him Mr. Harris seemed silly. She could hear her classmates now, mocking her for going native in twenty-four hours, but she thought, again, the hell with them. And he called her George. He'd promised to limit himself to one "By George I think she's got it" crack per day. Sometimes she really disliked her father.

She had initially declined the desk but as Xander pointed out, one thing about living in slayer house, moving heavy furniture about was never a big deal. Xander had insisted that she remodel the office to her own specifications as organization had never been his strong suit.

She'd come across a muddled pile of _Xander's Lectures_:

Lecture Number One: **Don't Die**.

Lecture Number Two: **Try not to kill people**.

Lecture Number Three: **Xander is NOT a TOY**.

And so on.

She had arranged them in a rack by the door. She thought of the impassioned and turgid arguments going on back in London where the New Revised Slayer Handbook was being hashed out in committee and thought she would send Giles a copy of all the Lectures (except possibly number three) as a possible alternative. And then it occurred to her that maybe the reason the handbook was taking so long is that it kept certain people totally occupied. Suddenly her mind was full of such heresy.

And she had her own computer all organized for her various tasks. Xander had agreed that, provided she built in a randomizing element so that the patrol never developed a predictable pattern, they would give her statistically optimized patrol program a trial run. She had set up a template so that she could enter the daily slayage notes and statistics for both her own use and reporting to London. She had templates for weekly and monthly reports as well.

She had a calendar set up to track slayer-requested nights off for dates and parties… still a little bit of a difficult concept for her Travers blood to accept… But Xander had practically growled at her, the one bit of ill-temper he'd shown all day,

"Repeat after me. Girls, who happen to be Slayers, not Slayers who happen to be girls, okay? Got it?"

She would also be able to track school dates and schedules, PTA meetings and so on.

Xander had transferred a copy of the financial software to her machine as well, set her up with passwords etc so she could take care of utility bills and taxes and so on.

She had kitchen duty rosters and household and yardwork chore rotas all organized for easy updating and substitutions.

All set up neat and organized so that with a mere two or three hours a day she should be able to keep her share of the household running efficiently while Xander ….. Bought the groceries.

_Wait a minute_.

Well, he would also oversee the training.

Run by Faith, Caridad and Mr. Lee.

Sneaky bastard, she thought, and smiled fondly.

_Uhoh_. Georgianne Travers, while no virgin, was not all that experienced in the ways of love, but she knew full well that when a woman calls a man bastard and smiles fondly, she's on a slippery slope.

She didn't care. Last night, or early this morning she, with two slayers, had scaled a wall to break into a secure facility to perform a sacred ritual to free an innocent girl trapped under an evil spell. Tonight she had gone on her first solo patrol, albeit with four slayers and a fifth acting as her bodyguard, but without Xander or Faith looking over her shoulder. And she had managed to get the girls to give her full descriptions of the three kills before they became totally occupied with issues of food.

She was having the best time of her life.

And now Xander was knocking on the office door, inviting her to come join him and Faith for a nightcap on the verandah.

They came out on the porch and once again Georgianne was aware of what a dominating presence Faith was, emanating rum and cigar and leather and female, a perfume that may not have been a big hit at Lady Weatherly's salon, but were certainly some of Man's favorite things. She was maybe a little bit drunk, definitely a bit hyper, one moment standing at the railing, staring into the night, the next squirming around on the glider, giving Xander's shoulder a tit-rub and begging a sip of his drink, then bouncing back up to the railing.

Georgianne sat primly at Xander's side, sipped her G and T and watched Xander watch Faith with his head cocked a little to the side,

"Faith," he said suddenly, "What have you done?" and Faith whirled around with a wide shit-eating grin, said,

"You know those cops that have been watching us the last few days?"

"Oh, god," Xander said.

"You guys ready," Faith whispered and Georgianne heard answering whispers from the roof above, then Faith had her cell out and said, "You guys ready? Then go."

And then the lone, non-descript car parked a little ways up the street was illuminated by the green glow of a dozen chemical flares coming to life, something large and ominous and bi-pedal moved behind the car and lifted the car's rear end while something that looked like a two-legged wooly mammoth trying to swallow a giant squid whole leaned in over the hood and growled and hissed at the occupants.

There was shouting. There was the car coming to life and the engine screaming in futility as the tires spun, there were shots fired, and two men piling over each other to be the first out the driver side door and go pounding down the street at Olympic speeds.

There was applause from the roof, there was Faith laughing so hard she fell off the railing and lay on the lawn kicking her feet like a child having a tantrum.

There was Georgianne Travers standing totally appalled, shouting,

"_Demons_? She used _demons_!" looking down at Xander whose shoulders were shaking.

"Oh, give it up George," he said, "you can be all tweedy in the morning."

"That's Ms. Travers to you," she wanted to say, but she couldn't. She hmmphed. She felt like Katherine Hepburn in, well, pretty much any movie starring Katherine Hepburn.

She began to giggle.

Demons. And Faith was running across the lawn to pay them off for a job well done.

She thought of what she would have thought of such a thing just a week ago. She didn't know whether she was being corrupted or liberated or both.

She spotted Faith's rum bottle and picked it up and finished off the last two inches worth out of pure spite.

**-30-**


	11. Chapter 11

**11. Chapter 11: Hush, Faith, and Munch**

**A/N**: See Chapter one for disclaimer/warnings

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 11: Hush, Faith, and Munch**

Xander's leg woke him early, the thin mats on the bunk beds in Clem's Room weren't doing him any favors. He was going to have to figure something out. Clem's Room, a magically concealed offshoot of the basement, the name lingering of course from the time Clem had lived there for awhile and often had to be hidden quickly, was meant for emergencies. Moving himself into it lock stock and barrel would kind of defeat the purpose. Maybe he should have accepted Faith's offer to move upstairs, after last night he didn't suppose the girls would find Faith's presence all that inhibiting.

His knee-jerk, so to speak, reaction had been that he'd promised Faith the room she had, that she was…. Faith, and deserved a room to herself, but now that he'd thought about it, maybe she'd _wanted_ to move upstairs and be, for once in her life, one of the girls. Maybe she'd wanted a roommate not supplied by the State to whisper to late at night.

On the other hand he didn't need the girls staying up all night passing the rum and planning new and exciting ways to terrify local law enforcement.

Rubbing vigorously he managed to get his leg straightened out enough to stand, slip on his robe, grab his cane and hobble out into the main section of the basement, mostly made up of the training area, the rest filled by the library, weight room and locker room, and of course the hidden command central. He often wondered if the weight room served any real purpose beside his own physical therapy regime, whether the girls really needed the exercise. Maybe it would make a difference as they aged. Nobody really knew what a forty-year old slayer would be like, or a fifty. Seventy-five. He grinned, wasn't there some Monty Python skit with gangs of little old ladies going around beating up young men. _Hell's Grannies_ or something like that. Monty Python as prophecy, have to run that one by Giles some time.

Or maybe the whole slayer power thing expired at certain age, and wouldn't that suck weasel vomit through a straw. Imagine lifting whole Toyotas one day and the next having trouble with the pickle jar.

Meanwhile, anything to burn off their unending energy was probably a good thing.

The indicator on the locker room door was set to E for empty but he knocked anyway, since he was the only one who actually used it. No answer so he shifted the arrow over to "X", originally the sign had said "M" but the girls would always rearrange it. He so needed to start playing poker on Friday nights or something. As it was, the only male companionship he had these days was the girls' boyfriends and they were all too terrified to be good company. He'd actually liked the kid who'd breezed in, called out, "Hey, Cyclops, how's it hanging," stole a beer, and yelled at Amber to get her ass in gear. As it was Xander had had to call the kid's parents to confirm that he was still alive after his sudden disappearance from slayer house, 'cause the way the girls were grinning had worried him.

Ah, me, he thought, only I could get a new watcher called George and have it be a pretty girl. And only I would complain about it.

He clumped over to his locker and pulled out a bathing suit, hobbled over to the jacuzzi and started the water bubbling. He pulled himself awkwardly over the side and flopped in and settled back, waiting for the heat to ease his leg.

Yeah, poor me, he thought, doomed to spend my life surrounded by beautiful girls. On the other hand there was that water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink thing.

Not that anybody believed it.

He'd been in way too much pain when he'd first got back to the States to even think of sex. But a couple three months later when the pain was a more manageable ache, he'd decided he needed to get out there and live a little, put the past in the past and start fresh and dive into the dating game. And there'd been some interest, even got to the second date a couple times, but always when they learned how he lived, especially when they learned there were girls from the third world there, he saw the gates go up and the eyes turn cold and they wrote him off as a perv and/or a pimp.

Hell, to be fair, he wouldn't believe it either. Some guy living all by himself with a whole housefull of teenage girls and hasn't been laid in months? Yeah, sure.

And shit happened. There was the time his leg seized up bad and Renee had found him curled on the floor and picked him up and carried him to the jacuzzi. She'd stripped him, put him in the water and jumped in and massaged his leg until it eased, and the whole thing had been about as erotic as a root canal, but the answer to the question, Xander Harris, did there come a time when you were naked in a hot tub with a fifteen year-old girl, was _yes._

And they cried sometimes, and he let them curl up in his lap and be held. And they had nightmares and if the other girls couldn't comfort them he'd come and stay with them and hold them until they cried themselves to sleep in his arms and sometimes they'd moan if he tried to leave and so the answer to the question Xander Harris, did there come a time when you spent the night in bed with a fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year-old girl, the answer again was yes. And it was all innocent but who on the outside looking in would possibly believe it?

Not that they were totally innocent little angels, it had taken a week-end without TV and a serious ice cream threat to get them to stop playing the let's-give-Xander-a-woody-and-watch-him-sit-funny game.

And thinking of innocent angels naturally brought him around to the true problem of the day that he'd been avoiding.

What the hell was he going to do about Faith?

He'd been damn well aware of her in a physical sense since she'd arrived. But hell, she was Faith, she took up space. And he'd felt her eyes on him too, but then he was the only male in the place. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe it wasn't.

They had a history, they'd shared a space and time, but they weren't the same people. Which was probably a good thing.

She'd planted one on him last night and he could still feel it.

They'd said good night to George and he'd said good night to Faith meaning to go on as she stopped at her door, but she'd reached and touched his shoulder, said,

"Hey, Harris, thanks for… not being mad."

He'd answered, "Well, I was trying to think of something a little more subtle, but it probably needed to be done."

"No," she'd said, "for not being mad that I didn't, you know, ask permission…."

And he'd started, "Faith, you don't need…"

And then she'd kissed him, it had started slow, a little press and go and then suddenly it was the whole body wrap and she was doing that little back-arching thing she did he still remembered from the one time all those years ago, and his arms were around her too and it was all hot and a little sweaty and a bit rough, cigars and rum and the patchouli or whatever it was she used to scent her hair, and her hands on his back gripping hard.

And then she'd stopped and stepped back, one hand trailing down over his face and caressing his neck and then she'd leaned in suddenly with a quick peck and she was gone with the door shut behind her.

Leaving him standing puzzled and a little shell-shocked in the hall, wondering if he was supposed to follow and deciding after a moment that if Faith wanted him in the room, he'd be in the room, so he'd turned and gone on down the hall. But just what the hell _did _she want?

He'd learned to cope with the girls' crushes, he knew the steps; there was the hanging around, then the unnecessary questions, "Xander, am I holding this axe right?" When a girl came and asked for his help on her algebra homework he knew she had it bad. Then came the cleavage, the open robes, the dropped towels, the ass-up bending to pick up a piece of lint on the floor. And then …. The boyfriend.

Because he was practice, he was safe place for the girls to taste those feelings, practice their moves until they were ready to turn some poor boy inside out. It wasn't a conscious thing, he didn't think, just part of growing up.

Is that what Faith needed, a safe place?

He knew it hadn't been good for her in Italy, he'd been too wrapped in his own pain to pay much attention, but Faith had still been the Buffy-hanger-on in Rome, and he knew she hadn't stayed long in London, tea and tweed really not being her scene.

He'd heard reports, Faith tearing up a demon bar in Maine, busting up a demon bar in Georgia, some watcher in Kentucky complaining that he'd just negotiated some sort of treaty with a demon clan and Faith had come in the next day and cut all their heads off, stole the hoard of coins that had been their _raison d'être_ and blown it all at the track in a weekend. And, worst of all, hadn't even bothered to let the watcher know she'd been in town.

Xander understood. He'd been a little crazy when he went to Africa, a little suicidal. And a good thing, too, he'd be dead, otherwise. They recognized that wild glint in the eye over there, respected it. Oh he'd been lucky, to be sure. Could easily have got himself killed. It got twisted up when he tried to explain, but it had been his willingness to die that saved him. The Stavrox demon so surprised he'd charged instead of running that he had the panga through its thorax before it could adjust. The sheer effrontery of walking up to boys with guns and _demanding_ to be told where some village was that had some freak girl scheduled to die for kicking an elder into a thorn bush.

And then one day he'd been… done. Ready to live again. And lost his mojo and gotten nearly killed and come home.

So maybe Faith was ready to come home and it would be nice if she could do it without the nearly being killed part.

Which was all well and good but did that mean that he took her to bed or that he didn't?

Would he still be a safe place for the girls if he and Faith were howling down the moon every night?

And what about what he needed, 'cause it would be good very good to bury himself in a woman's arms again, even better to pour out all the pain and hunger and rage into someone he knew was strong enough to take it and give it back, but if he just ended up out in the hall in his shorts the second it was over, what good was that, cause once would not be enough, not anymore.

Hell, maybe it was all just the rum, didn't mean a thing.

Gah. _Thinking_. Highly overrated. He clambered out of the jacuzzi, put on his work-out sweats and hit the weight machines, thinking, as always,

_"The weights go up, the weights go down, the worms are waiting, in the ground."_

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

Faith felt Renee poking at her shoulder, said, "Not today kid, Granma has a headache," and then she felt Renee grip her ear and lift her upright and out of bed and Faith, barely, restrained herself from smacking her, said, "Damn kid, you got a pair on you I'll give ya that, but this better be good."

George was waiting in the hall, leaning against the wall and dozing, jerking awake and shrugging her shoulders at Faith as Renee pulled them to the basement steps and halfway down and made them sit and ordered silence. And then, after a little while they heard the fumblings, then, like magic, naturally, Xander appeared and they watched as he hobbled across to the locker room, the pain that, since he thought no one was watching he hadn't bothered to hide, etched on his face.

"You let him sleep down there again and I'll beat the shit out of both of you," Renee said.

Faith stood in the doorway of her room her room and looked around, said, "I guess we could move a bed in over there," and looked back at the watcher with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," Travers answered, "much as I should enjoy watching young Renee thump you, I suppose we must acquiesce."

"What?"

"I said, it will be pleasure rooming with you, Faith, I trust we can arrange the details later in the day?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Faith lay down again, but she was awake now. It was possible for a slayer to get a hangover, Faith knew, but it took a hell of a lot more than a bottle of rum.

She'd kissed him. Hard. He'd been into it, but hell, who wouldn't be, Faith knew her power in the clinch. It was after she was unsure of. She'd run her hand down over his face, caressed his neck and he hadn't flinched. She'd run, half hoping he'd follow, half hoping he wouldn't. God, this wasn't her, playing girly games.

Want, take, have. That was her method. Take and have, she had those parts down pat. It's just the knowing what she wanted she was having trouble with.

Right now she wanted revenge. She went upstairs to where Renee was snuggling back down her bed, grabbed a foot and yanked the blonde girl out onto the floor.

"C'mon kid, let's go for a ride."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"What's he looking so happy about," Benson asked Fin.

"Thinks he's Sherlock Holmes," Fin answered.

"_Gideon Fell_," Munch said. They were sharing an elevator, going up to the squadroom late since Maddux had told them all to sleep in and bring some fresh brains to the problem. It was a novel concept that Benson thought someone should introduce to Cragen sometime soon.

"No, no, '_when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_,' that's Holmes," Fin insisted,

"Yeah, well," Munch said, "Gideon Fell was the locked room mystery expert. I know how they got into the hospital room."

"How?" Stabler asked.

"Through the window."

"The window with the steel bars."

"They bent them."

"We looked. They weren't bent."

"They bent them back on the way out. Got the metallurgist's report here that proves it."

"But that's impossible. There would have been marks."

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Munch said.

"Holmes. Told you," Fin said. And the door slid open on chaos.

"This doesn't look good," Benson said.

They were in the case room, with the door closed and the blinds drawn, Detectives Shreiner, Gonzalez and a third man Maddux introduced as Detective Litvak joined the NYPD delegation.

"The press doesn't have the story yet," Maddux said. "But it's just a matter to time. Probably minutes. What we talk about in this room, the details, we have to keep to ourselves. I'm not accusing anybody here of anything, I just want to remind you to watch yourselves.

"We have three people missing from the Cleveland Symphony fundraiser last night. Thomas Ohare, son of Robert Ohare Chairman and CEO of Achmei Industries which you out of towner's should know is one of the largest employers in Cleveland. Martin Rother, chief financial officer of the Bank of Ohio and Judge Eldred Winters. That's the shit that that will hit the fan.

"This we keep below the radar. Remember our kidnap vics one and three, Cynthia and Maria? And dwarf Grumpy? They have upgraded their wardrobes a bit, in value if not necessarily in taste."

Maddux started slapping security camera printouts on the evidence boards. "Here we have Cynthia and Maria at the bar with Thomas Ohare who rather seems to be enjoying their company. And again, Mr. Ohare who seems to have overindulged a little, fortunately our vics are there to help him stay upright, I'm sure the hand on Cynthia's breast here is an unfortunate accident. And here we have Mr. Ohare, who seems to be in a very happy place indeed that no longer requires him to use his knees. But luckily Grumpy, who seems to be a remarkably strong young lady, is there to help the happy gentleman out to what appears to be a waiting white van, parked in just such a way that the camera gets no view of the license plate."

The Captain dealt out file folders to each of the detectives.

"We have similar sequences for each of the missing gentlemen, each of whom I understand is known to have weakness for the ladies.

"And now the part where Detective Stabler gets to record one in the 'I told you so' ledger. Detective Stabler had requested additional surveillance at the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls, which I, in my wisdom denied. We had one car in place recording comings and going but not following."

The Captain held up a rather battered looking notebook. "This is the surveillance log from last night. Seven fifteen, blue VW bug, newer model, license plate VHG567, registered to on Marcus Horne, no record. Young man goes to the door and leaves with young lady, apparently dressed for night on the town. White van leaves with six girls at eight oh five, followed shortly a group of four girls on foot and four on bicycles. Girls on bicycles return at eleven forty-five, girls on foot at eleven fifty. Van returns just after midnight, which just barely makes it possible that the same van was the one seen at the fundraiser. Or not, but if we'd had it followed, we'd know. So, _mea culpa_, Detective Stabler.

"Oh, one other thing before we get down to assignments," the Captain said, "you may be wondering why I'm reading directly out of the officer's log book. This logbook was found at one fifteen a.m. after a patrol answered a shots fired report. It was found abandoned in the street next to the surveillance vehicle. It was abandoned by Officer David Harrelson, a ten year veteran of the force who phoned from the airport this morning to say he was resigning and he would mail us the necessary paperwork from San Diego…."

"His partner, eight year veteran Officer Dwight Nkruma has withdrawn his resignation on condition that he be allowed to work a desk job that allows him to work strictly daytime hours. Neither officer will discuss the reason for their change in career plans, nor will they discuss why they both discharged a number of rounds through the windshield of their vehicle from the inside. IAB is investigating. We will of course step up surveillance, and I am putting Detective Stabler in charge of that detail."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Warren Mather III sighed and viewed with distaste the pasty white and doughy body of Judge Eldred Winters, spread-eagled on his altar. He'd looked and looked. And _looked_, for another way, but the spell was quite specific.

Well. Greatness was never achieved without fortitude and sacrifice, he told himself. With the next step in the plan he would take care to factor aesthetics into the selection process wherever possible.

He sighed, opened his robe and stepped forward, "Girls," he said, "I'm going to need some help with this."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Are you sure about this?" Xander asked George for the third time, as she supervised the installation of a bed frame in the room she would apparently be sharing with Faith.

"Quite. I'm sure it will be an enriching experience for both of us."

"And where is Faith?"

"Off teaching young Renee to smoke, drink, and gamble, I believe, but I assure you, it was her idea."

"I believe you, I just wanted… never mind." Xander went into kitchen, resisted the urge to go for a beer and went for Gatorade instead. "Nothing good will come of this," he mumbled to himself.

The doorbell rang and Isobel went to answer, and returned shortly with a badge in hand.

"It's a policeman. He says he comes in peace."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Munch gripped his file folders and waited nervously, wondering if his world was really about to change as much as he thought it was. Or if the magician would roll back his sleeve and show him the hidden cards, pull back the curtain and show him the smoke machine and the mirrors, laugh in his face and send him packing. He wondered which result he really wanted.

And he really hoped that if … vampires were real, that he'd read the signs right and this old frat house was Van Helsing's home and not the Count's castle cause that would just… suck. He smiled. He'd been a cop a long time now. He'd seen some shit. He could handle this, whichever.

The girl returned, handed Munch his badge back.

"Give me your gun, or leave it in the car." He stared at her, she seemed so… normal. A little tough maybe but no more than any New York neighborhood kid. "Mr. Harris calls it a show of faith." Munch hesitated, then broke every rule in the book by taking off his gun and handing it to her, she opened the door and stepped back to let him in.

Harris was waiting in the hall, he held out his hand, said, "Detective," as they shook and invited him into the office. Munch noted there was a second desk now and the place was considerably neater than in the stills of Benson and Stabler's interview.

"Camera's off," Harris said, "Coffee, gatorade, beer? Have a seat."

He had a tropical sunset printed on his shirt, and despite the eye patch and sinister scar on his cheek his grin was warm and there was a touch of kindness in his remaining eye. If this was the Count it was a damn good disguise.

"Coffee would be great if it's convenient," Munch said. Harris pushed a button under his desk, said, "Who's in the kitchen," and got a garbled reply on an intercom, and asked for coffee.

"Amy's happy," Munch said. "She says she was visited by angels and now she's free."

"Amy?" Harris asked.

"The girl in the hospital with the brand."

"Ah."

Munch sat and opened a folder. "I've been doing some research. I must admit, it's a little disturbing the amount of information available to someone in my position, and you haven't really been trying to hide, have you? All over Africa on the same two credit cards, registering at embassies."

"Not really, no."

"I had a friend of a friend who has a friend in the military check you out and I got this file back." Munch opened a folder, passed it over, Xander saw his name and old Sunnydale address and the rest of it was blacked out. He smiled.

"So, you really are from Sunnydale?" Munch asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"All the records lost in the crater, a lot of people are using Sunnydale to get a fresh identity. And you're not military?" Xander shook his head. "And the Watcher's Council?"

"Sort of an NGO. Cut to the chase, Detective, what do you want know?"

Munch smiled. "What happened last night?"

"Be a little more specific?"

"With the cops across the street."

Harris smiled wryly, shook his head. "Just a little prank. They were in no danger."

"Why?"

"Well, it's a little rude, spying. We just decided enough was enough. "

The office door opened and a girl came in and put down a thermos jug and two cups, and backed out, Harris poured the coffee.

"They were two long time cops," Munch said. "One's on his way to San Diego, one's on a desk and insisting he won't work after dark. Must have been quite a prank."

"I'd feel bad, Detective, except the first time I had a, shall we say, similar experience, I was sixteen. And I didn't run off to San Diego. Not that San Diego is all that much safer, so you know."

Munch laid his folders on the desk and spread them out and let Harris look them over, print outs from the DEMONSDEMONSDEMONS website, eager blogs of amateur slayer-spotters, demon worshippers' shrine pages, x-rated demon action downloadable at $$$ per minute, ads from magic shops…

"It's all there in plain sight, isn't it," Munch said , "if you just believe."

"Well, not all, but you can get a pretty good picture. Do you want to believe, Detective?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure. Go to San Diego. Sit on the beach. Read Science News and the Wall Street Journal. Before too long you'll convince yourself it was just stress, you got a little over-worked and started seeing things. It works. I've seen it."

"No," Munch said. "Not for me."

"Crowbar time," Harris said and Munch heard running feet and whispered arguments,

"It's my turn, no, it isn't, I got here first, hey, who's holding the bar here?"

And then the door burst open and short black girl with a round face and a wide grin burst in, pushing back at the giggling girls behind her. She had a long steel crowbar in her hand and she handed it Munch who felt the solid weight and handed it back and the girl grinned and tied it in a knot.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Faith and George sat side by side in the control room watching Xander and the detective on the monitor, each with their earpiece, listening.

"What," George thought, wondering at Faith's sudden interest in things she already knew, "now that we're roomies we're joined at the hip?" But she said nothing and they sat and listened as Xander gave chapter and verse.

"Well, we call it the hell_mouth_ but there's a theory that it's the other end."

"Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops. See where it gets you."

"The government already knows, or part of it anyway," holding up the blackened file, "that didn't work out so well."

"If I had my way, detective, they'd be known as heroes. There'd be National Slayer Day with a ticker-tape parade and a big feast and young men peeling grapes and so on. But you know that wouldn't work. People would try to control them, mobsters would kidnap families to make slayers work for them. Governments would kidnap families. There'd be experiments, dissections. Nutcases with rifles. They're superheroes but they're not invulnerable.

"And Detective, they're humans. Children. Young girls, they have an overwhelming urge to fight demons that lives within them, but just below that they have a need to fight, period. They make mistakes, they can be led down dangerous paths, they can lose control. It happens.

"And they deserve lives too. They love the slaying , they need it, but they need love, too.

"Because we need allies on the force, Detective, I want you working with me, not against me.

"Use your judgment, but tell me, how is Detective Stabler going to react when you tell him I'm not using the girls to serve my sexual perversions, I'm just sending them out to do hand-to-hand combat with monsters?"

"Oh please, Detective, you've been married four times. I stand in awe."

And so on.

Munch checked his watch, "I need to go." He handed Harris the file on the abductions. "If those get out…."

Harris grinned, "Don't worry, confidential is my middle name," and a voice shouted from the hall,

"No, it's not, it's LAVELLE!" and Harris winced.

"Well, some secrets I can keep," he said.

Munch was gathering his files when Harris grinned, reached forward and picked out a printout, asked, "Can I keep this one?" and Munch nodded.

They shook hands, Harris walked him down the hall, invited him to attend the pig roast on Sunday, the girl returned his gun, he stepped through the door, stood blinking in the sunlight. The grass was green and the sky blue, but it was like he'd gone through one of Harris' portals. Munch had just stepped out into an entirely different world.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith burst into the office, said, "Hand it over."

Xander grinned, "But I was going to have it framed."

"Give it." He reached in the desk and handed over the website printout, FAITH THE DARK SLAYER in gothic caps and her picture framed against a stormy sky, in leather pants and topless, with a bullwhip in one hand and a dagger in the other, she stared at it intently for a moment, then exclaimed in outrage,

"Hey! It's a fake! Those aren't my tits, my tits don't sag like that!"

"Fanboys everywhere will be so relieved," Harris said, grinning at her and she couldn't help but lose the anger and smile back. She shrugged, wadded up the paper and threw it toward the trash.

"So," she said, "can we go somewhere where the walls don't have quite so many ears?" Harris raised his eyebrows quizzically and she answered,

"We need to talk."

**-30-**


	12. Chapter 12

-------------

**12. Chapter 12: Munch and Fin Go Clubbing**

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer/warnings.

**Chapter 12: Munch and Fin Go Clubbing**

Munch had a problem. Sometime today he was expected to do a briefing on the background information he'd gathered on the Cleveland Home for Gifted Girls, an area that had become his sole responsibility when Maddux had ordered Benson and Stabler to back off.

Munch sat and contemplated the blacked out file he'd got from his military contact. Only a government, he thought , could create such an inane document.

Through official channels it didn't even exist, so it was something ultra mega secret. So, he wondered, who blacked it out? It wasn't a blank black paper. There was typescript, individual lines that had been over-written by a human hand with a marker, you could tell by the wavering of the lines and the little scribbles here and there where the main marker had wavered. Super ultra secret, so whoever did the marking out had to have pretty high clearance, right? Had proved themselves worthy of knowing the darkest secrets, had received the coveted gold sharpie with oak leaf clusters. Munch had a momentary picture of a bunch of grey-haired Generals gathered around a conference table, markers in hand.

He wondered, had they always intended to black the whole thing out or did they go line by line and only at the end realize what they'd done?

The big secret had been "this whole Frankenstein thing" made of demon parts and man parts and computer parts and meaner than a junkyard dog and he'd have to ask Will or Giles if he wanted the details, Harris, who apparently didn't give a damn about Ultra Mega Secret, had said.

Damn Harris fucking ai-ki-do master of the interview.

Yesterday Harris had had a problem. He had had a trained professional investigator closing in on his secrets.

Today Munch had a problem. Use your judgment, Harris had told him, tell who you need to tell. Just remember, the lives of twenty-some innocent, even heroic young girls hang in the balance.

It was worse than what he'd done to Benson and Stabler. He'd hobbled them. Munch he'd roped, tied and put in traces.

And what did Munch know, really? He'd seen two girls who could bend steel with their hands. Harris had said it was _Skrell-nic!-Nic!t_ demon that was used in the prank. Munch had taken a picture off the website database and shown it to Officer Nkruma and the man had nearly fainted. Proving what?

Harris said that thing was out there, somewhere in the city, sitting in some dim bar, knocking back shots of vodka, sea-snake venom and fermented eel, and bitching about its ungrateful offspring.

And fuckit, Munch believed him. He thought back over some of the unsolved cases of his career, some of the strange things he'd seen late at night in the streets of New York and Baltimore. A lot of things made sense now. Though not really in a happy way. In some ways it was better to mark a case "unsolved" than "eaten."

"I understand about partners," Harris said, "if you need to bring the rest of your SVU group in, let me know, we'll take you bar-hopping," with that sudden grin. And then a softening, a gentle warning. "Just remember, it may be just a few steps down an alley to the dark side, but it's a one way trip."

Munch looked over at Fin who was sitting quietly, picking at the last of his lunch and reading the paper. He was a good partner, he'd done the _you wanna talk about it?_ thing when he'd seen Munch's face, and he'd taken no for answer without getting his feelings hurt. Did Munch really want to bring vampires into his world?

And Stabler. Munch thought he was basically a good cop. But he already thought half the world's population was out to get his daughters, tell him about vampires and the poor girls would never leave the house.

He and Kathy would never reconcile, instead she'd be suing for divorce on the grounds that her husband spends the night patrolling the yard with a stake and a bottle of holy water and a mad look in his eye.

And Benson, how would she cope knowing that teenage girls were out there fighting monsters with stakes and crossbows, would she be able to sit back and accept it or go out and get herself killed?

And Harris was right, how would Stabler cope with that?

But would any of them ever forgive him if they discovered he was holding out?

"Miami," he told Fin, "I should have gone to Miami."

"Fin," he said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"We have to talk."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Lockley."

"Ms. Kate Lockley, late of the LAPD?"

"That's me."

"My name is John Munch…."

"Ah, Detective Munch. Xander said you might call. How you holding up?"

"Fine. I suppose it hasn't really sunk in."

"Well, the only advice I can give is don't let it obsess you. They've always been there, probably always will be. I know it's a little hard to step back, but you're the civilian in this battle. Have you seen a slayer working yet?"

"No, just bending some steel."

"Make sure you get Xander to take you on a hunt, it will give you… perspective."

"I'll bear that in mind. Actually the reason I was calling, Mr. Harris said you might be able to…"

"Right, hang on, he said he'd email me the details. Just a sec… Here we go. When will you need me?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Georgianne Travers thought she was beginning to understand her evil aunt Gwendolyn Post _née_ Travers a little better now.

The Travers' were Watchers and always had been, as far back as one could trace the family tree, which wasn't quite as far as the first protoplasmal primordial atomic globule, but it was close.

There were a few black sheep who'd rebelled, but most had served at least one term as Watcher before going on to some other career when their Slayer died. Usually one male of every generation made the Council a career.

And not a few had died in the line of duty, including Georgianne's own father.

She knew Quentin, her grandfather, mostly as a cold and distant man, and when her natural urge to defend the family name raised her hackles she had precious little ammunition to use in his defense. But she had found him once, sitting in the family library clutching a book and weeping. She'd carefully backed out, of course, but gone back later to find the book and of course it was her father's Watcher diary, and it hurt that Quentin was known as such a complete villain in the New Watcher's version of history. And that her father was so completely forgotten.

It was a source of great, though unspoken, disappointment that there had never once been a Slayer in the family line and she, like all Travers females felt that slight cloud of failure over her head at all times. It was stupid, she knew, they all knew, but it was there.

This morning she'd had to endure the humiliation of combat training. Of course she'd studied fencing since early childhood, even won a trophy or two. But here she was invited to attack all out with a sabre while a slayer casually fended off her blows and carried on a conversation about some singer with another slayer across the room without breaking a sweat. Georgianne had eventually sunk to the floor panting and exhausted and counting the bruises she knew she would have in the morning. It's not that they were unkind, quite the opposite, they were very careful not to hurt her. They just didn't understnd how frustrating it was to have your best efforts deflected by someone who was scratching their nose.

And then it was her job to sit stiffly in the office and pass out allowances to girls who breezed in all bouncy like Tigger on speed and who were going to go eat big piles of hot pastrami and coleslaw and potato salad and run off to the movies or the mall while Georgianne had a half-sandwich and a salad and a brief lie down before doing the weekly accounts.

And now Willow was here, just popping into existence, bringing with her, nicely enough, Georgianne's books and the rest of her clothing, and a sharply dressed young man named Thiago who was apparently an intern of some kind. And Willow snapped her fingers and Georgianne's things disappeared again… she would find her clothes neatly hung in the closet she shared with Faith, and her books correctly distributed in the library.

And Xander and Willow took a walk around the grounds and beneath her feet you could see the grass grow slightly greener, she paused and ran her hand down his leg and he straightened and walked a little easier.

Then it was hugs for Vi and Caridad and just like that Willow was gone, leaping continents on a whim.

And worse still, last night at the nightly nightcap, Caridad and Vi had joined Xander Faith and herself, on Xander's invitation. Given, Georgianne knew, because Xander had noticed the senior slayers had been feeling a little neglected over the last couple days. And a Slayer must never be neglected. Oh no. He had gently teased Vi about her late return from her date and asked Caridad about her studies, her second year at Case Western starting in a week and then when the two were purring like happy cats, then he turned and gave Georgianne her strokes.

He'd thanked her for her hard work, marveled at her efficiency… and he'd been sincere and despite herself she'd felt her back straightening just a little and pleased smile tugging at her lips. But he'd done it all with Faith curled up on the swing beside him, her hand resting oh so casually on his shoulder saying, "Mine."

Because Faith was Faith and she took what she wanted, because she had been given the power by the roll of some cosmic dice, while Georgianne would have to scrape by on intelligence and hard work.

It was just a crush, she knew, she would get over it and someday there would be an intelligent and dedicated man she could discuss Sumerian grammar with. She would get stronger, she would guide her slayers and she would avert an apocalypse and write down the tale for posterity to once again honor the Travers name.

But she understood Aunt Gwendolyn better now, she could see how the need for a little power of her very own could grow into an obsession, how it would be worth it to feel the hooks of the glove of Myneghon dig into one's arm to just for once call down the lightning and hold the power and say **MINE**.

But now Xander was calling her, he was huddling with Thiago and cooking up some plan and she was being included, would have her part to play and that would have to do. For now.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Stabler was better now, Benson thought, relieved.

Organizing the surveillance had given him something practical and active to do. No one would leave the Home but he would know about it, and where and when they went and what they did there, too. He had found a vacant apartment that overlooked the Girls' Home's back yard, he'd placed cameras and organized a rota of cars to be ready to follow anyone leaving the residence.

He had it wired six ways from Sunday and he would catch the bastard in the act and he could take his little blackmail tapes and shove them up his arrogant ass.

Every where else they were just flailing.

Benson had gone with Detective Shreiner and they'd interviewed the families of the missing men, the banker's family didn't miss him much, the CEO was in a rage and throwing his weight around, the Judge seemed to be well-loved, his wife and adult children teary-eyed and begging for help.

Each man had enemies of course, but none that stood out or seemed to have urgent motive or any link to the apparent means. The only thing they had in common was their local prominence.

Munch had done the background work, traced the ownership of the Girls Home to an ancient British charity, called the Watcher's Council. It was closely held among a few families that had historically funded research expeditions and the like to Africa and other unknown and uncivilized places such as America. There was a legend that one such expedition had inadvertently caused a slave girl to be eaten, in penance the Watchers had set up a fund to rescue and educate girls in dangerous situations.

There was more, a lot more but the gist was that **a:** Munch did a terrible but amusing British accent, and **b:** he could find nothing sinister about the Watcher's Council. **c:** Harris seemed to be just a lucky young man who had fallen into the job after his hometown fell into a sinkhole, through an acquaintance with one of the members of the funding families, who were an eccentric bunch. One of whom, a Georgianne Travers, had recently joined Harris at the Home.

There was more, but the detectives were all yawning.

Fin reported then, he had found some information about the brand that had been burned on the abductees turned abductors, had arranged for an expert to brief them on the subject.

A tech brought in and turned on a video conference monitor and an attractive blonde woman appeared on the screen.

"Gentlemen, ladies," she said, "I'm not going to ask you to believe in magic. I am going to ask you to believe that there are people who do believe in magic, and in that sense I think you are looking for someone who considers himself a sorcerer…."

Benson looked at Fin, this wasn't at all the sort of thing she would expect him to follow up on, this was more Munch's territory, in fact Fin did look rather skeptical…

The woman went on, "He's been active in the local fringe and occult community but has withdrawn, perhaps as far back as two or three years ago, perhaps more recently. Has access to money, probably family since it is unlikely he'll be holding down a regular job…..

But it wasn't like they had anything else to go on, Benson thought, beginning to take notes.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

A little after midnight Stabler saw Harris and Miss Leather come out in the backyard and do an inspection of the cement block barbeque pit the girls had constructed earlier. They stood beneath the yard light and it almost seemed as if they were posing, left profile, right, straight on. And then they went inside and there was no more movement until morning.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Twelve hours twenty two minutes," Fin said. He and Munch were standing in an alley in downtown Cleveland. Fin was not happy.

"What?" Munch said.

"You asked me to pretend you're not crazy for twenty-four hours and it's been eleven hours and forty minute and that means it's twelve hours and twenty minutes until I have you committed and myself right beside you for going along with this shit."

And then it was raining people, people who were appearing suddenly in the alley about six feet in the air and falling, Eyepatch was there, landing on his ass and cussing, and Stabler's Leather Girl and six other girls landing like cats and a young man in a three piece suit running around like a decapitated chicken saying,

"Pardon, pardon, pardon," until Harris told him to shut up.

Munch helped Harris up and made the introductions, "Odafin Tutuola, Xander Harris," and Harris did the rest, introducing Faith, the girls and the man,

"This is Thiago who's a little new at this, and while it would have been nice to make a more dignified entrance, he is totally forgiven because we'd much rather arrive six feet in the air than six feet underground."

Fin said. "Buh?" and sat down.

Faith had a silver flask and Fin had a couple hits and walked up and down the alley a little and shook himself and straightened his shoulders and pronounced himself ready.

Harris pulled him aside, asked, "You're sure you want to go through with this?"

"No choice, now, is there?"

"No, not really."

"You're tourists," Harris told them. "These two girls are your bodyguards. I know it's against the grain but they're the pro's and you're not. Do as they say and they'll take care of you. Feel free to ask questions, but don't be pointing your finger and screaming "What's that?" cause, well, it's rude. Do not be pulling your guns, you start firing you're much more likely to hurt my people than do anything useful...

"We're going to Willy's first, which is pretty safe, as will be the next place, but after that, well, I've been a little neglectful and the clientele may be getting a little uppity and have to be reminded who's the eight hundred pound gorilla around here, which, by the way, would be Faith…"

"Hey! Watch it, oneeye."

"There will be vampires, and they may look human. Even cute or harmless. They aren't. Don't touch. Any questions?"

"Bout a million but I'll guess they'll wait."

Munch decided he was numb. The third barful of pink and green and blue monsters, bug-eyed and snake-eyed and horned and tusked, they all suddenly seemed normal, and the bar seemed like a bar, bunch of tired stiffs hitting the booze and trying to make it through the night.

It was like the old days when he was first starting out, when a local precinct captain or a certain beat cop ruled with an iron hand, or to be honest, when certain mob bosses entered….

Harris would lead the way, hobbling in in that ridiculous shirt with Faith half-hidden behind him and the girls hanging back, and the place would slowly go quiet, and Faith would step out in full view and take the center stage, broadsword _(broadsword?)_ twirling idly in one hand and there would be silence and Harris would greet the bartender like they were old pals. And there would be a catcall from the backrow and then really deadly silence as Faith stepped forward, said,

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that?" and the silence lingered on until Harris was talking again, laying out the description, lunatic amateur sorcerer suddenly finding himself with actual power since the hellmouth came to town, runs vampires and branded slaves, usual terms, tell us and we don't kill you on sight if you're being good, maybe a little sweetener if you're really helpful and I'm feeling generous.

"One the other hand, if we don't find this guy soon we're gonna start tearing things apart looking, _capiche_?"

And then they were moving on. The third place the cat-caller went too far, said,

"You finally putting a leash on that biker slut, Harris?" and Faith had started forward but Harris touched her shoulder, held her back and nodded at the girls following and damn that was scary, the two girls moving swift and silent through the tables and the muffled,

"Wait, no…." and then there was a purplish orange head with green horns and no body in the middle of the room and one of the girls was wiping a blade off with a bar rag.

And then in the fifth place all hell broke loose, something leaped from the ceiling and two of the girls were pushing Munch and Fin into a corner and standing guard, and Faith was everywhere with the broadsword flashing and the other four girls moving too fast to track, Munch saw a vampire go to dust, and another, Harris was in there swinging too, with one of the girls easing up to stand and cover his blind side. Munch saw limbs severed and heads rolling and sprays of multi-colored fluids and mass exodus for the doors and then it was over and Faith was bouncing around with a wild gleam in her eyes, swinging the sword and cutting the polished oak bar itself in half and then, disregarding the fact that her torso was half-covered in green ichor, grabbing Harris and planting a kiss on him they probably felt in Port Stanley.

And then Harris eased out of her arms and went around to all the girls, checking for injury, one girl had a slash on her arm that he quickly bound. Then he checked on Munch and Fin,

"You guys hanging in there?" and after a moment Fin said,

"I'm cool." and Harris took it for a yes.

They hit one more place, but word had apparently got out and it was nearly empty, so they took the detectives home.

"Don't be going to any of those places on your own now. If you find yourselves cornered by a beast, use my name, say you're under my protection. And you are, I'll rain hell if either of you turn up missing and I hear about it, but, first, I got to hear about, and second, who wants to be avenged when you could be safe at home in bed. Detective Tutuola, it was nice to meet you, Detective Munch has my number and you can give Ms. Lockley a call too if you want to talk, we're having a pig roast tomorrow and you're both invited, you have a good night."

And then Harris and the girls gathered around the Brazilian, Harris said, "Thiago, let's aim for the basement, there's mats down there." And then they were gone.

Leaving Fin and Munch standing just outside their hotel and Fin said,

"I still think we should both be committed."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith propped herself up one on elbow and let her hand trail down Harris' chest as she listened to his steady breathing. They'd fucked. And then they'd made love.

"We need to talk," she'd told him the day before and he'd agreed, and they'd gone out to a coffee shop and sat for moment as she struggled to get started,

"Don't be mad," she said, "but you remind me of the Mayor," and she'd seen his eye widen in surprise, but he'd grinned,

"In the sense of a giant snake or evil politician?"

"Well, maybe we'll get to the big snake resemblance later," she said, because she was Faith and she couldn't help herself, "but I mean in the way you do everything right."

"O-kay, that's a new one," Harris had said.

"Look, the Mayor and me, it wasn't sex, I mean I offered, but that wasn't what he wanted. He treated me with respect. With affection. He gave me things, milk, cookies, wicked cool knife. But he made me earn them, made me show him respect, all that good parent bullshit? I needed that, never had that, the father daughter thing. And look, I know he didn't exactly bring out my best side, but, look, he wasn't corrupting me, using me, well, he was using me, but he didn't see it as wrong. He wasn't corrupting me, he was grooming me. I had a talent. He admired it. Yeah, he was gonna eat people but he didn't feel bad about it you know?" She wrung her hands, struggling for the words.

"The thing is, you're just as ruthless as he was. You're a good guy, you don't eat people or anything, I get that. But you're grooming killers, just like he was. You're the guy in the red coat in the circus, running everything, making the big cats go through the hoops and the clowns fall on their asses. You got everything under control. You're giving these girls just what they need. Just the right amount of love, just the right amount of discipline, a little responsibility but not too much. When Miss Snooty Tight-ass showed up you had her eating out of your hand in a day. This ain't criticism, I ain't saying anything bad about it, I'm just saying it's scary. Cause it was the same when I showed up. You gave me just what I needed. You gave me respect. Gave me a place to stay. Told me you were glad to see me cause it gave YOU someone to talk to… I been riding around so long, place to place, killing a few demons, and moving on…. It was everything I was just dying to hear."

"I don't," Harris had started but she cut him off,

"I ain't complaining. I ain't saying you're playing me. But, here's the thing, if you were playing me, what would you do different?" She paused, tied her spoon in a knot, waved him silent

"You know, I used to carry around this real anger for Giles, figured if he'd just done his job better maybe none of the bad shit would have gone down. If he'd been there a little with milk and cookies and wicked cool knife, maybe if he'd been the one to come see me after Mrs. Post fucked me up instead of sending Buffy, things mighta gone down different."

"But then I got to thinking, he was Buffy's Watcher, not mine. It used to piss me off that he always put her first. But, that's what he was supposed to do, right? Put Buffy first. Not his fault the fucking council left me out there to hang.

"But I've never had anyone who put me first. Maybe it's selfish and maybe I don't deserve it, but here's the thing, if you and I are going to do this thing I gotta know I'm not just gonna be another one of your slayers. I gotta know you're not sitting there making a list. Renee needs a hug and some cookies, Amber needs a bike, Faith needs a good fuck and then we'll all go kill some vampires… It's gotta be more than that."

"Faith," he'd said, "You'll never be just another slayer to me."

"Fuck," she said, "that's just what I wanted to hear."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Three things. One, you have to promise not to run out when I fuck up," Harris had said. "Sooner or later I'm gonna piss you off, do something that makes you think I'm treating you like one of the girls. You can call me on it, but you gotta promise not to run off the first time I make you mad. You have to stay and fight, and by fight I mean argue in completely non-violent way."

"Stay and fight, got it."

"You have to stop holding up demon bars for protection money. I won't have evil thinking I owe them something."

"Life of poverty, check."

"The girls still come first. Maybe I put you first, but WE put the girls first, you got me?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way. My turn?"

"Go."

"You don't tell me what clothes to wear, you don't tell me to lay off the rum and the stogies, you don't tell me to be nice. All of me or none, right?"

Harris held out his hand, "Deal."

"Deal." And they shook. Faith thought it was the most romantic moment of her life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You got it wrong," Harris said as they left the coffee shop. "I'm no ringmaster, I'm not in control. I just get up every day and take it as it comes and dance as fast as I can to keep it all going."

"Just a dancer, huh. That's all?"

"Well, I did turn pro at a very young age."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Faith eased back down, snuggled under his arm, breathing in the warm salty scent of his body and, even though they'd showered when they got back, just the slightest lingering aroma of demon blood. She sighed and held him and closed her eyes. She was home.

**-30-**

Next: Chapter 13: Madame Pavlova tells all


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Madame Pavlova tells all**

**A/N:** See Chapter 1 for disclaimer/ warnings

**Chapter 13: Madame Pavlova tells all**

"At least," Detective Olivia Benson thought, "it's not raining."

Saturday night and she was alone and working. She didn't mind alone, really. Truth be told usually when she got home she was glad the apartment was empty and quiet.

There had been guys, times when there was a choice to be made. But the guys had always come second to the job, distant second. And any man worth keeping wouldn't settle for that. Anymore than she would accept being an afterthought in some guy's life. There were moments she had doubts, of course. But not really. The job held her, was her, it was enough. Alone was all right.

Well, technically she was with Detective Shreiner, who was waiting in the car on the grounds that Madame Pavlova seemed more susceptible to a good gossip with another woman than an interview with two detectives. Shreiner wasn't a bad guy, hadn't hit on her, didn't smell, seemed competent. But, life of the party, not so much.

And working. Well, working was her life, though she'd expected the Cleveland trip to be something of a semi-vacation, a little less with the long hours and more with boring seminars and the locals pawning off paperwork. But they were short-staffed, over-worked and eager to extract all the hours from the New Yorkers as they possibly could. Scuttlebutt she'd picked up around the squadroom said that something had changed two, three years ago, the streets had gotten meaner somehow. Turnover among the uniforms was high and morale was down.

Murders were up, missing persons stats were even worse.

Detective Benson had a wealth of hard-earned skills and experience she was quite willing to bring to the situation. So naturally she was getting her fortune told.

Madame Pavlova insisted. And Madame Pavlova knew all. It said so on her sign. More to the point, the owner of the occult bookshop Benson had visited and the clerks at both the magic shops she'd stopped at had said that if anyone could dish the dirt on the magic community it was Madame Pavlova. The "magic community," Benson thought. _Yeesh_.

"No charge of course, my dear, but so many come seeking knowledge of the dark arts and forbidden pathways, and their hearts are rarely pure."

"Madame, this is a police investigation…"

"And are you going to get a court order, Detective? For gossip? Are you going to count the newt's eyes in my kitchen, divide by four and get your answer? The law is a mighty sword, Detective, but it knows little of justice and has no heart. Give me your hand or go away."

Madame Pavlova held out her hand imperiously and waited. Benson resisted the urge to roll her eyes and reached out.

As befit her trade, Madame Pavlova was a striking woman, tall, voluptuous in the best sense of the term, wrapped in a dark velvet cloth that managed to be seamless without being shapeless, jet black hair that cascaded down her back, gold encircled her neck and glistened on her fingers, deep red lipstick, kohl around already dark eyes… there was incense in the air and infusing the tapestry covered walls, just loud enough to hear there came the sound of distant chanting and a steady drum. Her hands were strong, dry, but warm, firm but gentle and she pressed Benson's hand between her palms and said,

"_Holy fucking shit!"_

Madame Pavlova lit a joint with trembling hands.

"I AM a police officer," Benson said.

"Pah," Pavlova dismissed her, "try to arrest me for this and I'll turn you into…" she paused, eyed Benson a moment then continued, "…a badger. Yes, I think so. A badger. But never mind, do you want to ask me questions or do you not?"

So Benson laid out the profile Lockley had given her and Madame Pavlova sat back and looked blankly at the ceiling, her lips pursing and relaxing as she clearly ran through some internal rolodex.

"I wouldn't have your life for a big clock, Detective," Pavlova said. "All that pain. All those children. All those sad stories of ugly passion in dark alleys, pathetic in the light of day. There is no end, you know, Detective. You are only picking at the scab, but I suppose you can't help yourself. A little unwanted advice, Detective. If you survive, set a limit. Another month, another year, but set a time to declare your duty done, and find a beach, a mountain, someplace to cleanse yourself, and go there. You don't think you can. But you won't know until you try. Your heart is not pure, Detective, but it is good and deserves some peace. The man you are looking for can only be Warren Mather. Do not be deceived, he may look a fool…. Well, he is a fool but fools with power are dangerous Detective, so take care."

Madame Pavlova took one of her cards and wrote down an address on the back, handed it to Benson, who thanked her and asked,

"What do you mean, if I survive?"

"If I told you to forget this case and go home, would you do it?"

"Of course not. But…"

"My sight is blocked, I see only danger, but no details. I have warned you, I warn you again, forget this case and go home. And since you won't be warned I wish you luck."

Benson turned to leave, when Pavlova called her back.

"One more thing, Detective" and she held out a pack of cards, "pick one, tell me what you get."

Benson did, said, "The jack of hearts," and then Madame Pavlova smiled, said,

"Ah, then there is hope, you may survive this yet. Remember my advice."

Shreiner was waiting in the car, tearing shreds of styrofoam off his coffee cup,

"Any luck?"

"Could be. Madame Pavlova's pretty certain anyway, some guy named Warren Mather…."

And then there was only darkness.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Stabler woke to find himself staring up into Detective Gonzales' wide open mouth. He'd seen worse things in his life, but only at crime scenes. Gonzales finished his yawn and straightened back up.

"Sorry to wake you early, man, but I'm starting to see things out here," Gonzales said.

Stabler groaned and stretched. He had been asleep on a cot in one of the bedrooms of the vacant apartment they'd taken over to take advantage of the view of the Girls' Home's extensive backyard.

He pulled on his pants and shoes and came out to the main room where the surveillance equipment was set up, stared out the window.

"So what's going on?'

"Well," Gonzales said reluctantly, "about an hour ago the one-eyed guy come out with a couple girls carrying charcoal out to the block pit they set up last night. They got it lit up allright and kind of took turns keeping an eye on it. About fifteen minute ago the guy comes out, decides the coals are ready I guess. Goes back inside. Then five minutes ago a couple girls, the tall black one there and the little blonde, they come out and they're carrying the pig carcass all trussed up on a spit…."

"So?"

"Well, you can see it there. That ain't no suckling pig. That's a hefty ol' hog."

"And?"

"So the little blonde was on the back end holding the spit handle and the tall girl turned and asked the blonde something and the blonde pointed back toward the side of the house…." Gonzales trailed off.

"So? She pointed.….?" Stabler asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"With the pig," Gonzales said.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Hey, Jimmy," Carla said idly as she was flipping channels on the TV, "last night at Willy's when Pirate Joe was saying the slayers would pay the usual, what's that mean?'

"Well, now look who's all grown up and dissing a Scooby."

"What?"

"Hey, it's cool with me, I got no love for the bastard but you say something like that in the bar and I don't know you, got me?"

"Yeah. Sure. So, what's it mean?"

"Mostly it means they give you a code, so you if you happen to get caught in a sweep just hanging out, you get a pass, you don't get staked on sight. But don't count on it in a fight, cause they ain't gonna stop and ask. And if they catch you in the act… But sometimes there's some money, or like, all the blood you can drink at Willy's for a month and they pick up the tab, but they gotta really be desperate for that…. Why?"

"Cause I think maybe I know where the guy is they were looking for."

"Yeah? Where?"

"I don't know. I mean like the address. But I think maybe I could take them there…"

"Oh, I dunno babe. That ain't the same as slippin' Willy the word. You really think you're ready to go take a little ride with Faith?"

Carla curled back in on herself.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. No, you just keep that bit of information to yourself for now. If in doubt, lay low, that's my motto. So, anything good on?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Benson awoke in a warm yellow light, she smelled smoke and oil. She opened her eyes and tried to look around without moving, she saw a stone floor that seemed to shift and waver in …. the firelight?

Her wrists hurt, her shoulders ached. She came more fully awake and realized she was shackled to a stone wall, hands over her head. Her gun was gone and her pockets turned out, but she was still dressed, so it could have been worse. She gave up the pretense that she was still out and raised her head and looked around. It was a dungeon cell. No other word. A torch straight out of a period horror movie flickered in a sconce by the heavy wooden door. The air was warm but damp, she could hear little scrabbling movements in the low wooden ceilings that could only be rodents. Rats.

She was not alone, across the room she saw Madame Pavlova shackled in a similar manner… with the added horror of what Benson realized was a scold's bridle, a metal cage fitted over her head and reaching into her mouth to hold her tongue still. A thin trail of blood ran out of the corner of her mouth. She was awake and looking back at Benson but if there was any message in her eyes Benson couldn't read it.

She heard whimpering to her left, she looked and saw ADA Catherine Lodge hanging limply against the wall, her hands over her head, dressed in a wrinkled but still stunning blue dress. There was a trail of dried blood down one leg.

Benson felt the fear rise and take her for a moment, the horror, all the things she had seen, the pictures, the stories of women held captive, for an hour, for days… her bones turned to water and she sagged, felt the tears hot on her cheeks, all her fighting, all her carefully grown and nurtured strength, her toughness … and still she ends here, doomed and helpless…

Gradually she gathered herself. She wasn't dead yet. She was strong and smart and the perp had already made at least one big mistake. He'd left her alive.

She straightened, took a deep breath and began to look around, searching for weapons, for some means of escape. She caught Madame Pavlova's eye. Madame Pavlova winked.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Stabler answered his phone,

"Detective, guess who showed up at home this morning claiming he'd just had a long weekend and apologizing for causing any fuss."

"Judge Winters."

"And Ohare. And Rother. All back with their families, in seclusion, refusing any medical attention and insisting they just had a little too much fun and they just want to be left alone."

"You believe them?"

"Not really. Doesn't matter though. One things certain, anyway, they weren't in the basement of the Girls' Home. I'd say that Mr. Harris is off the hook. He's got the best alibi in the world."

"Me," Stabler said.

"I'm going to have to pull the surveillance. I need the bodies in other places."

"I understand Captain. I'll make the calls….Captain,"

"Yes?"

"Maybe they aren't kidnappers, but there is something wrong here. Innocent people don't act the way Harris did. Innocent people don't do …. whatever the hell they did to the guys on that stakeout."

"Get some rest, Detective. If we put everyone in jail who wasn't perfectly innocent there'd be only me and you on the outside looking in. And I'd be wondering about you."

Stabler made the calls, cut his crew loose, sent Gonzales home to snore in his own space. He stood at the window, staring down at the sinister sight of girls in Hawaiian shirts setting up volleyball net.

He knew he should let it go. But those were the ones that haunted you, the times when you came to crime scene and realized you'd been there before, you'd thought the wife was being beaten but you couldn't prove it and now, she was dead. Or worse, a kid. He knew Benson still had nightmares about the woman she hadn't believed about being held in a dungeon …. And six or seven more women had subsequently suffered the same fate and they had ended up having to prosecute the victim for killing the perp.

He thought about calling home… well, calling the kids, but it wasn't the right time. He almost dialed Benson's cell but decided it wasn't fair. She deserved a day off.

They were laughing at him, Harris sitting in his office mocking, that woman throwing him down the stairs, he still couldn't believe that had happened, with her eyes full of contempt. They knew he was watching and they were…. roasting a pig.

He knew in his gut there was something wrong, something evil in that house and those girls were the victims. He would find a way in and he would save them. And he would have the distinct pleasure of seeing Harris and Leather Girl behind bars.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Tutuola saw Munch in the hotel coffee shop, hesitated, then went to join him. It was a little weird. They spent a lot of time together working, they got along, sometimes after work they stopped in to the cop's bar for a little decompression. But it wasn't like they hung out.

"Hey," Munch said as Fin slid into the booth.

"Hey," Fin answered, picked up the menu.

"And in the cold light of day…?" Munch asked, after awhile.

"I'm cool."

"You sorry I brought you in?"

"Yeah. But I'd be damn mad if you didn't, you now what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"But mostly I'm just glad that that Faith girl is on OUR side."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith laid back on the grass feeling fat, happy and scared shitless.

It was a bright, sunny day, which was a good thing. If the vamps ever figured out the way to kill a slayer was to fill her up with so much hot dripping roast pork and sweet potatoes in honey and coconut banana cream pie that she couldn't move, she was doomed.

She'd been happy like this only maybe once before, back in Sunnydale when she and B. had been, there for just a little while, best buds, kicking vamp ass and talking about boys and it seemed like maybe she had turned a corner, found a home.

But that had sure gone to shit in a hurry. But she was older and wiser now, she wouldn't let that happen again. _Please,_ she begged the Powers, _I'll be good_._ Please let me keep this._

She struggled to her feet and went to sag into an empty lawn chair so she could watch her man work the crowd. The first couple times she'd seen him with an arm over a girl's shoulders she'd felt her hackles rise, but he shot her that grin and it had been okay. There were few secrets in a house full of slayer senses, they'd been greeted with cheers and jeers at breakfast. But there'd been tension too and he was working to relieve it.

Renee had needed reassurance that she would not be forgotten, Shad the same, needed to be told that Faith had come to stay, not take Xander away. He took off with Zoey for awhile in the truck, came back and they unloaded a big crate into the garage, probably some new tool for Zoey to use in her ongoing quest to create a bicycle strong enough to survive regular use by a slayer. He sat with Vi's boyfriend, teased Caridad about her several admirers. He sat with Marybeth and freed her to go chat with boys while he took a turn entertaining her sisters, who were getting seriously spoiled in Faith's inexpert opinion.

That had helped a little, boys coming the party, and the girls too anxious and excited about their own libidos too worry too much about Xander's. For a moment she wondered if he'd planned things that way but she couldn't possibly see how.

Some of the boys' parents were there too, some neighbors, a few people from the local wiccan group who monopolized a very happy Thiago, who held them spellbound, so to speak, with tales of Willow and the coven at Dover.

Faith could close her eyes and tell where Xander was by the short bursts of laughter.

And from time to time he came and found her, touched her shoulder, her back, took the piece of pork or fruit she fed him, gave her a peck and a rueful grin, and wink that said, "tonight, just you and me" and went back to work.

The thought occurred that he would be a great father and it went through her like an electric shock. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, she wasn't going there, no way.

She got up, scrounged up another plate, took some more potatoes and sliced off a hunk of pork because the pig hadn't died and been roasted yet that could defeat a slayer's appetite. And she settled with her plate and ate, she poured herself a small glass of straight rum because mai tais were for pussies, lit up a cigar and settled back, and had no more thoughts of parenthood, no how no way not her. Not yet.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The cell door opened and a tallish middle-aged man came in. He had Einstein hair but no moustache. He was wearing a wizard's robe like something out of _Fantasia_ that Benson suspected hid a rather portly body.

Behind him came Cynthia, one of the abduction victims, her face blank, behind her the girl Benson recognized as one of the dwarves, both girls wearing plain brown robes cinched at the waist with a belt of black rope.

He walked over and stood in front of Madame Pavlova, shaking his head.

"Vaddie, Vaddie, Vaddie," he said. "Just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? Madame Pavlova knows all tells all for a pittance. Or just to show off. There would have been a place for you, you know, in my kingdom. And there still will be when I put the mark on you. But a free seer would have been more fun, I think. Oh, well, I'll find one soon enough."

The man turned and came to stand before Benson, "Ah, Detective, the wrong time and the wrong place, but I'm sure you'll be useful. And if not, still so much more pleasing to the senses then my last acquisitions."

"Who are you?"

"Warren Mather, of course, didn't Vaddie tell you? New owner and proprietor of Hellmouth, Inc. and soon to be your master."

"Bwa-ha-ha," Benson said.

"What?"

"You can't end a sentence like that without an evil laugh. _Bwa-ha-ha_. Now, you try it…"

"How sweet. Bravado," Mather said. He moved on to Lodge who still sagged. Mather leaned forward, waved something under her nose and she came instantly awake, screaming, struggling in her chains, Mather sat smiling, waiting.

"Catherine!" Benson shouted, "Catherine, calm down. He likes the screaming, Catherine, try to calm down, it's going to be okay."

"Of course it is, of course it is," Mather said soothingly. "Depending on your value for "okay" of course," he added with a wink for Benson. "My, but you are lovely," he said to Lodge. "Beauty and a position of power, how convenient." He raised his voice, called out, "Ready now," and Benson heard heavy footsteps outside the cell.

She opened her mouth to speak, to assure Lodge that Elliot would find them, Elliot would already be raising hell and the whole force would be out and they would find them, but she lost her voice as some _Thing_ came through the door and her mouth just hung open.

**-30-**

-------------

Next: Chapter 14: Nothing short of spectacular


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Nothing short of spectacular**

**A/N:** See Chapter one for disclaimer/warnings:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 14: Nothing short of spectacular**

"C'mon, tell me," Faith said.

"Old girlfriends," Xander answered.

"No, c'mon, I wanna know."

"You think I'm joking? I'm crushed, I thought my history of demon dating was the stuff of legend."

"Xander," Faith said. "Tell me. These first," she ran her hand across the thick scars on his side.

"Stavrox demon."

"On of those giant cockroach things? Gross. And these?" she asked, running her hand down his damaged leg.

"Kalashnikov."

"A what, I never heard of a…."

Xander kissed her gently, said, "shhhhh… Rifle. Ak-47. Bullets."

"Oh. And this…." tracing the pink line across his belly.

"Girlfriend. …Okay. Date. Slight miscommunication, I thought we'd go for coffee, she thought we'd gut me and open the hellmouth."

"Oh, yeah, I think I did hear about that one. And this?" Thick purple line on his left bicep.

"You now, I don't remember. Seriously."

"And this," tracing the white line on his cheek and he sagged a little and went silent.

"Tell me."

"Slayer. You don't need to know who," he added when he felt her tense. "She was… making a point, she misjudged, she was sorry. It was … a good thing, in the long run. A lesson for us both. Enough history. Did you like the party?"

"Yeah. Actually. It was a good time."

"I know, not really your style, but I figured it would kind of reassure the neighbors we're not freaks or anything, get the girls back in act normal mode for school, maybe get Caridad laid so she'll stop looking so serious all the time. "

"Xan?"

"You ever do anything just for fun anymore?"

He was quiet, thinking. "Not for a long time, actually."

"We'll have to do something about that, won't we?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The stench was almost enough to make her forget the fear. Almost.

It did raise the question of sanity though, because surely no one could hallucinate such a horrible smell.

On the other hand, no sane person could see these…. _Things_.

The first Thing was huge, maybe eight feet tall and had to almost squeeze through the cell door. It had a head like a sack of rotten potatoes and …tentacles, except without suckers but fine hair instead, more like really strong and flexible spider legs, extruding from a roundish body balanced on two more hominid legs … it was wearing forest green cargo pants, Doc Martens and a fanny pack, which was where it kept the keys to the shackles.

It had gone to ADA Lodge who had stared and screamed and begun thrashing until three of the tentacles held her still while two more unlocked her, then the Thing carried her out into the hallway and Benson could hear her screams fading and echoing and then stopping suddenly.

And then, presumably, time passed, though there was no way to tell how much. Benson made an inventory of the room, but as it was mostly bare that didn't entertain for long.

At some point Cynthia returned carrying a tray with couple of water bottles and a plate with strips of processed meat. Without speaking she poured about half of one bottle down Madame Pavlova's throat and half down her chest as she struggled to swallow around the bridle. Cynthia came to Benson then and ignoring her questions fed her some of the meat and half the water in the bottle. She left the tray with some remaining meat and water on the floor so Bensons' next inventory was much longer and twice as interesting.

Time passed. She thought perhaps she heard chanting, maybe another scream or two but she couldn't be sure.

The Thing came back and took Madame Pavlova, who seemed stoically resigned to whatever fate had in store for her down the hall. And the Thing, Benson noticed, seemed almost to treat her with respect, carrying her upright and in a seated position, one tentacle holding the scolds' bridle steady so that it didn't tear at her tongue.

And then Benson was alone, fighting the panic that came and went as she told herself that this couldn't be happening, and told herself that it was.

And then the Thing came for her.

Resistance was clearly futile, and Benson had made up her mind to go with dignity in the manner of Madame Pavlova, but when the moment came her revulsion overcame her and she went with the cussing kicking punching and screaming version of dignity maintenance and ended up being carried down the hall upside down, the Thing holding her by her feet at tentacle length.

So it was from a perspective barely a foot or two above the ground and upside down that she saw two more Things, and two _other_ Things, only these were more hominoid but also more scaly and clawed and horned and fanged and still very damn big. And she saw the altar and the girls in the plain brown robes all waiting for her and she saw Mather, waving a bloody knife around as he argued with… some other Thing. Almost human shaped but with a clump of writhing worms for hands and a face like a sharpei on steroids. And also, purple. _See_, Benson told herself, _you're safe_,_ this can't possibly be happening_.

"I thought you were this great wizard now," the sharpei was saying, "with all this power…."

"The power is fine, the power is there," Mather shouted back, "I can already take them over in a matter of hours, I will soon have a seer of some power herself under my control, the power is not the issue here."

"Then what is?" the sharpei thing shouted back.

"Look, you don't understand… how do you …. things reproduce, cut your left foot off and stick it in the ground, for all I know, but you know…."

"Are you mad?" the thing interrupted, "When a prime is in the second stage of grune…"

"Did I ask? Did I? I did not. … My point is that the _Mark of Saqāliba_ is sex magic, _human_ sex magic and that is something you know nothing about. In order to make the connection I have to inject…. Look, I'll have you know that for a man my age my performance tonight has been nothing short of spectacular. Perhaps I spent a little too much time with Lodge but she is a very beautiful woman and after the those last three I needed… Look there's just no point in being an evil overlord if you can't play with your victims, is there? Besides," he waved at Benson, "she wasn't supposed to be here."

The sharpei muttered something and Mather whirled, "No, no, that's not the point, even if I could get it up again which would be a minor miracle, the well is dry and nothing but a big glass of juice, a decent meal and a good nights sleep will change that. Take her away."

And the Thing holding her turned and started back, she heard Mather going on,

"And let me remind you who it is who has a direct link to the power of the hellmouth and just who it is that came up with this plan in the first place…"

Meanwhile the Thing carrying her was stumping along, mumbling to itself in a language Benson couldn't understand though the meaning was clear and universal in the language of gofers everywhere, "Next time make up your freaking minds _BEFORE_ I have to carry the screaming woman down the hall."

It was still grumbling in the cell, and careless, and Benson made fists as the Thing shoved her upright against the wall and began fussing with the shackles and she managed to slide down a little so the Thing closed the hard metal not on her wrists but on her clenched hands. Which hurt like hell but when the Thing stumped out and slammed the cell door behind it, she was able to release her fists and slide her hands out of the chains and she was free.

Well, free in the sense of being locked in a dungeon cell in an unknown location and surrounded by monsters, but it was an improvement, nevertheless.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mather sat and picked idly at the remains of his meal. Madame Pavlova sat in front of an untouched plate and stared blankly forward. She spoke in mechanical, monotonous tones, her voice hoarse now.

"Really, that is interesting, do go on…." Mather said, "And their names? Really, how quaint. That will be so very useful indeed. Do go on."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Monday morning and Stabler was getting worried. Benson wasn't answering her cell…. So maybe she'd forgotten to charge it. But then she didn't answer when he knocked on her hotel door and now she wasn't in the squadroom, he checked with Munch and Tutuola, they hadn't seen her either since Saturday.

"She was following up on Lockley's profile with Shreiner," Fin told him. "I thought it was a little odd we didn't see her around on Sunday but figured maybe she was helping you out."

Detective Shreiner said he dropped her off at the hotel around nine-thirty, ten,

"At the side entrance, the bar, she invited me for a drink but I could tell she was just being polite, so I just dropped her and went home. No, didn't watch her go in, didn't occur to me, she seemed like she could take care of herself."

Since the VIP "kidnap victims" had returned apparently unharmed and unwilling to talk to police, and the missing branding victims seemed to be moving about freely, Maddux moved that case to the back burner and sent Fin and Munch off on an apparent rape-homicide on the west side. She listened to Stabler's concerns and told him that, so long as nothing big hit he could spend his time looking for Benson,

"You find any evidence of foul play and you get all the resources you need, but I don't want to hit the panic button only to find out she met a new friend on Saturday night and overslept…"

Her room hadn't been slept in. Stabler woke up the night bartender but he didn't remember anyone matching Benson's description. He made the manager go through the receipts, nothing with Benson's credit cards, nothing charged to her room. He searched around the entrance to the hotel bar and found no signs of struggle. He got the list of places they'd been Saturday night from Shreiner and found Madame Pavlova's closed and locked tight with the shades drawn, he went around back and peered in the windows, but saw no sign of life. He asked at the next door shops and was told that it wasn't unusual for her to be closed on Mondays. He called the number in the window and got voicemail and left a message.

He called Munch and Fin, but they hadn't heard anything either. She was just gone.

Shreiner was patient but irritated, "I understand, Elliot, but what do you want me to tell you? We interviewed the nutcases, Madame Pavwhatever talked her ear off but we got nothing. She was tired, she was gonna have a couple beers or whatever and turn in. I dropped her off. I went home. I been going over it in my head, I don't remember getting any feeling that anybody was following us, nothing. I think of something, you'll be the first to know."

And then Maddux was calling them into his office, where Catherine Lodge was sitting, looking a little tired but striking as ever.

"Anything?" Maddux asked Stabler, who shook his head. "Okay, I'll put a word out to the uniforms to keep an eye out. Meanwhile if you don't have any leads I got a couple court orders you might find interesting."

Stabler banged on the door and yelled "Police, open up" and grinned when the short latina appeared. He shoved the papers in her face, said,

"I have an arrest warrant for Alexander Lavelle Harris, and a court order to search the premises, open the door."

She took the papers and slammed the door shut in his face.

Stabler smiled and stepped back. He was ready this time, and he waved the uniforms with the battering ram forward. They took aim and swung and the door opened and the two cops on the ram fell forward in a heap at the girl's feet, with two more cops tripping over them and adding to the pile. Stabler watched as the girl leaned down to help the first cop up but somehow managed to jam the battering ram into his knee and knock him down again,

"Oops," the girl said and Stabler waited, he could hear Harris talking in the background, instructing someone to call a lawyer and say hi to someone named Clem, telling someone else to be cool.

"Oops, " the girl said again, "I'm so sorry, the floor is slippery, isn't it? Careful. Oopsie."

Stabler looked past the pile-up, thought he saw movement down the hall.

"Oh, I am sorry," the girl said. "is this your gun? My, it's so big," and Stabler winced and watched the last of the fallen cops struggle to his feet and sheepishly accept the return of his sidearm.

And then Harris was making his way through the confusion in the hallway, giving the girl a pat on the back and grinning, coming to Stabler,

"Detective Keystone, I presume?" and Stabler grabbed his unresisting shoulder and spun him around, pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him, said,

"Alexander Lavelle Harris, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and false imprisonment of Marybeth, Virginia and Michelle Gorton, you have the right to remain silent…

He passed him over to Detective Shreiner for delivery to a patrol car, turned and took a breath and went inside.

"Your piece of paper allows you to search the building, you grotty little man. It does not give you right to bully children and I assure you your superiors, which I imagine includes most of the mammals in the western hemisphere, and not a few of the reptiles, will be hearing a detailed list of your petty brutalities…."

Goddamn Mary Poppins was beginning to really grind on Stabler's last nerve. It was going to give him distinct pleasure to arrest her as an accessory as soon as they found the missing girls.

"That's all of them, sir," a uniform insisted. "We've been everywhere."

Stabler eyed the pictures Lodge had provided again, looked again at the girls sitting at the long dining room table, searching in vain for his targets. The girls were staring back at him like he was a mouse and they were cats. It was a little unnerving, after awhile. Wasn't anybody afraid of the police anymore?

He'd seen them at the pig roast, three freckled light skinned redheaded sisters, Marybeth, Virginia and Michelle. Not looking, Stabler had to admit to himself, all that kidnapped and imprisoned against their will. But they'd been here.

There was no altar in the basement, just weight machines and a dojo. Perhaps a little over equipped with edged weapons, but nothing of the dark and damp dungeon the branding victims had described.

But if its all so innocent, where are the girls now? The little blonde girl was gone too. The extremely tall black girl, at least two others, he thinks, he would have to check his surveillance photos.

He set himself up in Harris' office and had the girls brought in one by one. And they ignored his questions, sitting and staring silently at him with varying levels of hostility and boredom until he gave up, and waved for the next one.

Mary Poppins, who had graciously conceded to give him her name as Georgianne Travers, Ms. Travers to you, had sat down, asked him if she was under arrest and when he said no she simply stood up and left.

He called Benson's cell, still no answer.

He considered his options. He had photos of the missing girls at the residence. He could arrest Travers and Leather Girl… that was certainly tempting… and maybe a couple others for obstruction, they would lawyer up, at least it would cost them some money and some frustration, but he had very low hopes of flipping any of them.

Harris was the underage girls' official guardian, with him under arrest he could bring in social services, have the girls pulled out of the home, appoint _guardian ad litem_'s who might be more cooperative…

He decided that would wait, be something he could threaten Harris with. Yeah, he thought, it would be different this time, with Harris down at the precinct, we'll see if he's so cool and indifferent playing on Stabler's home turf with kidnapping charges hanging over his head.

He conferred with the uniforms again. They had found no cameras, no recordings except commercial dvd's, no recording equipment, the only computers were two pc's in Harris office that demanded a password and Travers only laughed when they'd asked her. Well, the techies would sort that out.

Stabler wondered if they'd been tipped somehow, had known they were coming. Time to talk to Harris.

"Hey, five-oh," it was Leather Girl, calling him as he started out the door, he turned back, bracing,

"Just so you know," she said, with a leer that would embarrass Larry Flynt, "I inspected his body thoroughly this morning, I'm gonna inspect it again when he comes home and if there's marks there that shouldn't be I'm holding you responsible."

"Is that a threat?"

"Detective, you and I know I can break you like a twig, but I can be all weak and girly if I wanna, you really want to go to court and explain how some little girl shoved your gun up your ass?" Stabler tried to laugh her off, but somewhere in his gut he had the feeling she wasn't speaking in metaphors, and his sphincter puckered just a little.

He called the hotel, he called her cell, he called Maddux. He called Munch and Fin, still working their case on the west side. They hadn't heard from Benson. He told them he'd arrested Harris.

"You did _what_?" Munch said.

When Stabler got back to the squadroom he called down to booking, asked the sergeant to have Harris brought to interrogation room two.

The sergeant said, "Who?"

-30-

Next: **Chapter 15:** **Xander and Olivia get intimate**


	15. Chapter 15

**. Chapter 15: Xander and Olivia get intimate**

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 15: Xander and Olivia get intimate**

Benson heard footsteps and hurried to slip her hands into the shackles and sag against the wall hoping whatever was coming wouldn't notice she was loose.

The cell door opened and the potatohead Thing came in carrying a body which it took and locked to the wall in the shackles that had held Madame Pavlova. The Thing stepped back and Benson started with surprise when she saw the disfigured face and realized the body was Harris with his eyepatch askew. What in the hell is he doing here? she thought.

_What in the hell am I doing here?_ she thought.

And then Mather came in with Detective Shreiner trailing meekly behind and it was all Benson could do to restrain her rage. Mather crossed over to Harris, reached up and waved something under his nose and Harris coughed, snorted and shook his head, blinked awake and straightened, taking his weight back off his wrists and onto his feet. He looked at Mather for a moment, then around at his surroundings.

"Ah, crap," he said, "not again."

"Mr. Harris, please, allow me," Mather said, reaching up to adjust the eyepatch. "Such an ugly wound."

"And you would be Mr. Mark of Saqāliba." He looked over at Detective Shreiner, added, "He's one of yours, is he? Can I just say, _ewww_, with a side of _gross_?"

"To achieve greatness, Mr. Harris, one must make certain sacrifices. I'm sure the pleasure of having a slayer or two on my altar will wash it clean of any less pleasing memories."

"Yeah, like that'll happen."

Benson couldn't help herself, she raised her head and stared. Harris was _laughing_.

"Yes, Mr. Harris, it will," Mather said.

"Ah," Harris said, "quite mad, I see. I suppose offering you a chance to surrender now would be pointless? We might let you live if Willow can bind your powers…."

"Spare me the repartee Mr. Harris."

"I rep you no partee, my friend. You know how this ends, you make big plans and get all threat-happy and doom-talking, and then the slayer kicks ass, you RIP and we party. Same old, same old. Or we could skip all that, you surrender and we go for pizza. It'd be different. You could really break the mold here."

"No, Mr. Harris. That was then. This is now and you've grown soft. Buffy Summers is retired and the Red Witch is a navel gazing flower child, Rupert Giles is a petty bureaucrat, and Xander Harris has grown weak and sentimental, den mother to a group of lazy children who hunt in packs, dusting fledglings and beheading the occasional careless demon and who have no stomach for a real war. When was the last time you sent a slayer into real danger, Harris? I am no madman threatening apocalypse, I don't want to destroy the world. I just want my piece of it."

"It's one thing to risk death when the alternative is, well, dying. All out war to save the world, sure. Are you willing to die to save _Cleveland_, Harris? How many slayers will you sacrifice for a bit of real estate? What will your little girls give up to have you back? There will be talk of surrender soon enough, Xander Heart of the Scoobies Harris, but the terms will be mine."

Mather turned and started toward the door and stopped, said, "Oops, I almost forgot. _Bwa-ha-ha-ha_," he laughed. "How was that, Detective?"

He came toward Benson, reached out and caressed her cheek and she thought, now, maybe I should attack him now…. But Shreiner was just there and armed and the potatohead Thing was by the door and she simply stood and took it, Mather spoke, said,

"I'm afraid Detective Shreiner may have exposed himself a bit too much this time, but I'm sure you'll make an able replacement. I have a few… details to attend to. But I'll be back soon, Detective, I have eaten well and rested and we have much to do together."

And then Mather was gone and the cell door shut and bolted and she looked over at Harris who was clearly waiting for the skeeved out shuddering to leave her shoulders. And when it did and she relaxed, a little, he grinned,

"So, Detective," he said, "you come here often?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Georgianne stood by the door, watching for five minutes after the cops left, all but one car parked across the road.

"Okay, Vi," she said, "go tell the girls they can come out of Clem's Room now, but lets leave the weapons there for the moment," she raised her voice loud enough for slayer ears throughout the building, "Everybody take five minutes to see if anything is missing or if any of your private cabinets have been breached, then meet in the dining room, please."

She found Faith downstairs doing what she thought she recognized as a tai chi form not usually performed at such supersonic speeds, she waited a moment, then spoke softly,

"Faith," and watched as the slayer slowly eased to a stop like a big jet coming in for a landing. "Isn't that form supposed to take, say, forty minutes?"

"Yeah. Heard that," Faith said, her voice husky, "Never really worked for me." She turned and Georgianne was startled to see the tears welling in her eyes, the tremble in her hands.

"He'll be okay," Georgianne said, "We'll get him back."

"I know. I just can't stand seeing… He shouldn't be in cuffs, I had to just stand there and let that bastard …. "

"Faith…."

"I know. Xander said be cool, I'll be cool. Go on. Gimme a minute and I'll go check my shit and join the meeting…."

"Okay," Georgianne said and started up the steps, Faith called after her,

"George…?"

"Yes?"

"If… something happens to him, don't try to stop me, okay? You just keep the girls out of the way, okay, don't let them try either. Cause if something happens to him I'm not gonna be cool. At all."

"Faith," Georgianne said, "if something happens to him we'll all be there right behind you."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

She hesitated for a moment, then strode forward and stood at the head of the table, Xander's place, took a quick headcount, nodded.

"Okay, first off," she said, "I want to say well done to Caridad for her excellent work in the hallway which was very effective and damned funny. And well done to all of you to taking advantage of the time provided and following the drill perfectly. And especially well done on keeping your tempers and keeping your cool with the police, I know that was very difficult and I know you've made Xander proud.

"On that note, I want to assure that the council's local attorney has been notified and is on his way to meet Xander as we speak, Xander will be fine and back with us shortly, I am sure. Now, " she held up the papers Stabler had shoved in Caridad's face, "these are the court orders. They were signed by Judge Winters who was one of those abducted by the sorcerer we are looking for and is almost certainly under his control. That means that, as unpleasant as the police …."

"Those grotty little men…." one of the slayers interrupted, with spot on mimicry of Georgianne's voice in high dudgeon, and there was laughter round the table. Georgianne tried to act annoyed but knew that this was probably the first moment she was truly accepted into the group and it was all she could do to hide her pleasure,

"…as unpleasant as the police may be they are only tools. This was an attack from a very clever magical opponent and we must prepare ourselves for a real battle…. "

Later after the meeting she was sitting with MaryBeth and her sisters, "None of this is your fault, you know that, right? They would just have found some other reason…" when Caridad came and called her to the phone in the office.

"What!" Georgianne said.

"What is it?" Faith asked from the doorway.

"Xander's disappeared. According to the lawyer he never showed at the precinct and the cops say they don't know where he is."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Like most cases, Fin and Munch's rape/murder had been simple, the perp was an animal who bragged to his buddies that he'd finally killed the bitch, still had the knife in his pocket and seemed outraged that anyone would care that the woman was dead. After the night at the demon bars it was a little disconcerting to be faced again with plain old human evil. Disconcerting, but not at all unfamiliar.

They brought the perp in for booking and found the place in an uproar, they could hear Stabler and Maddux going at it.

"I've known Ed Shreiner for twenty years," Maddux was yelling, "Whatever happened, he didn't do this!"

"He was the last one to see both Olivia and Harris and they're both gone and he's missing and whatever the hell is happening he's right in the middle of it!" Stabler was yelling back, "I want to see his goddamn file!"

And Fin saw Munch answer his cell and, if it was possible, go even paler than normal.

"What?" Fin asked.

"That was Faith," Munch answered.

"What'd she say?"

"She said, and I quote, 'Don't make me come down there.'"

They both contemplated the concept for a moment. And shuddered.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"So, Detective," Harris said, "you got your hands free, didn't you?"

She stared back at him, unsure.

"Detective, you're fucked, and, I'm sorry to say, literally in a little while. What do you possibly have to lose by trusting me?"

It was a point. She slid her hands free and came to stand in front of him. "Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"Short story, you're a cop, you do sex crimes. I do supernatural crimes."

"Supernatural?"

"Yep, Mather is a sorcerer, that other cop is under a spell so don't be too pissed at him, he can't help himself. That thing with him was a demon. Now, I'm afraid we may well have time to play twenty thousand questions later but first, being a cop and all you wouldn't happen to picked up a few useful skills, like say, lock picking?"

She had to lean up against him to look at the lock, knew he could smell the fear on her, feel her trembling.

"It's gonna be okay, Detective," he said. "The great wizard doesn't want you dead, and you've got twenty-five pissed off super-heroes on your side now."

"Super-heroes?"

"You did notice that the girls are a little unusual. I mean, I understand why you didn't just go, "wow, slayer," but you did notice some things, right?"

"Yes but… but they're just girls. Even that woman who … threw us down the steps, she's just a little …."

"Faith was very, very gentle with you guys, trust me. No good on the locks?"

She shook her head. Carefully, a little afraid it would fall off. This was just… unreal. But she felt better, somehow. He was so calm.

"Okay," he said, "tell me."

He stood calmly and listened as she went into testimony mode and recited everything she'd seen and heard since she'd woken up in the dungeon.

"Okay," he said. "Not so bad. We got four P-head demons…"

"What?"

"The things with the heads like a sack of potatoes?" She nodded. "They have a name of course, but it's unpronounceable, sounds like a Russian politician choking on a pickle, so we call them P-heads, short for potato head for one thing and, well, we'll come back to the other reason in a bit. We got two members of _Fyarl_ clan and a _quarshink_, better known as your lesser purple-headed dogface demon, ugly as hell, but basically a big pussy. We got one bespelled detective, two bespelled girls and a vamp. Not bad."

"Vamp?"

"Vampire."

"You must be joking."

"Out of all this, it's the vampire you have trouble with? Interesting. But later. Now, I told you help is on the way, and it is, but it'd be way cooler if we escape on our own, right?"

"Sure. But…"

"So, we're not totally helpless here. We got that water bottle…. You got a first name, Detective?"

"Olivia."

"And I'm Xander, we might as well be informal here cause… well, I told you there's another reason we call them P-heads. Now, that water bottle will make a decent delivery system, but we have to load the weapon and while I can avert my eyes like a gentleman while you make your contribution, I," he rattled his chains that were holding his hands above his head, "am going to need a little help hitting the target."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" she nearly shouted.

He grinned, said, "I have a cunning plan."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Elliot," Fin said. "Come with us. We need to talk."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mather watched Robert Ohare, CEO of Achmei Inc, largest employer in the greater Cleveland metro area, shoot his son a puzzled look, then glower across the table at his host in disbelief.

Mather smiled. He had chosen his _Dr. Strange_ outfit, the one with the especially high collar, for this meeting just to tweak the pompous bastard.

Ohare turned to his son, said,

"You want me to go into business with a man wearing a tights and a cape?"

"Yessir," Thomas Ohare answered, because he couldn't help himself.

"Allright, Mather, my son says you have something to show me. Show me."

"Certainly. Let's start with the stick, shall we?"

He had Thomas sing the teapot song. He had him drive a knife though his hand.

"I can have him put it through his throat," Mather said. "Or yours," and when he saw the belief in the old man's eyes, he brought the demons in.

Mather congratulated himself on judging his man right. Ohare had to touch them, smell them, see them move, hear them talk, but he took it in. He had to sit still a while and nurse a scotch, and adjust his view of the world, but he did it. He was a practical man. Seeing was believing.

Mather told him of the hellmouth. He would have to take that on faith.

"Are you ready for the carrot?" Mather asked. He led the two men down the hall, and after a dramatic pause, threw wide the doors of the model room, where the meticulous miniature of his long dreamed of future Cleveland covered half the floor, under glass so you would walk over and look down like a god. Mather couldn't resist, he said,

"If you build it they will come."

"What is it," Ohare said, "some kind of demon theme park?"

And Mather nearly killed him.

"No!" he shouted, then calmed, "no, there are two of those already and one is going bankrupt. No, this the first Free Demon State, sovereign unto itself where the laws of Man will have no bearing and the beasts will walk free and unafraid. No more cowering in the sewers… except of course for those that like that sort of thing. There will be streets covered in eternal night, and stadiums covered in necrotempered glass so the vampire nation can watch gladiators in the morning and baseball in the afternoon."

"And how are you going to pay for this?"

"Gold, mostly, gems, precious metals. Bearer bonds. And banking, of course, tax havens, money laundering, I'd like to see the FBI accountant who dares subpoena records from the First State Bank of Demonia. Also gambling and, of course, the tourist trade."

Yes, Mather thought, I can see the wheels working, he's hooked, I've got my man, he's only resisting to save face. Almost time for the lawyers.

"Why me?" Ohare asked.

"Details," Mather said. "I need someone to handle the details. You already have the people and the places. Somebody's got to take out the bodies and other garbage. Somebody has to serve the roasted kittens and pour the yak bile. You handle the details and you get richer, fight me and you and your son die. Any other questions?"

"Why here, in the States where you know they're going fight you? Why not someplace like Sierra Leone or some island somewhere?"

"The hellmouth is here. And once the slayers are gone the demons will come like piranha to bleeding meat. I already have some things in place, the tunnels that extend off the subway, caverns ready to accommodate paying tenants. I have interests in a number of demon bars and other real estate. They will come and they will pay and we will grow until we are strong enough to throw back the shadows and the secrecies and declare ourselves independent and free. What part of that don't you understand?"

"About all of it," Ohare answered, "but that doesn't really matter does it?"

"No. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are a few details only I can attend to. If you have any more questions there are men and …other things down the hall. It's good to be in business with you, Mr. Ohare." And Mather wrapped himself in his cape and stepped into his elevator and went down to deal with his detectives.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was a mistake, Munch thought, glancing at the rearview mirror and watching Stabler in the back seat, looking like a kernel of popcorn in hot oil. We shouldn't have told him. It's bad enough now that he just thinks we're crazy. When the shit actually hits him, he's going to pop.

But Benson is his partner, we had to bring him in.

"So, what the hell are we doing now?" Stabler demanded.

"Waiting for Faith, she's meeting us here…"

"This is stupid, we should be at Shreiner's place…." and then Faith, two other girls and the man in the three piece suit appeared in the air a couple feet above of the car's hood and the girls landed like cats and the man hit the hood like a sack of wet sand and immediately bounced up and began with the,

"Pardon, pardon, pardon," until Faith told him to shut up.

The detectives got out of the car,

"Fin, Munch," she said, glanced at Stabler, "what's he doing here?"

"Benson's missing. Shreiner was the last one with her, just like with Harris. Elliot's her partner."

"Okay, but keep him on short fucking leash, and you understand, anything happens to Xander and he's dead?"

"Faith, it wasn't us, the warrant came through the ADA's office, he was just carrying out the order…"

"I get that. I'm just sayin', Xander gets dead and I'm not gonna care. Now, why are we here? You figure Madame Pavlova really does know all?"

"We figure maybe she told Benson something that forced Shreiner to shut her up."

"Okay, let's have a look." Faith sent the other two slayers around behind the building and bounded up to the front door and knocked and listened for a moment then shoved the locked door inwards with a crack of splitting wood. She pulled a dagger out of thin air and went inside.

"Whatthehell are we doing just …."

"Just let it go Elliot," Fin said, "think of them like Delta Force or something and just stay the hell out of their way."

Then Faith was back outside waving for Thiago to enter, and they all followed him inside,

"Wait please," he said and Faith and the detectives stopped and watched as he pulled first one leg up and then the other and sat hovering in mid-air with his hands extended and his eyes closed. And then he matter-of-factly dropped his feet and stood again, said, "Ovid's petals."

"Which is…." Faith asked.

"Mystical knockout powder, get a handful in the face and instant sweet dreams. Literally. If you are going to kidnap someone that's about the nicest way to do it. And she was, I'm afraid. Taken. And she is a woman of no small power, if he has her under control….."

"Yeah?"

"Bad. Very bad."

Munch and Fin began looking through the papers on Madame Pavlova's desk in the next room, Stabler stood leaning against the wall and occasionally shaking his head. Faith answered her phone, it was Caridad with a crack in her voice,

"Faith, a courier came with a package. It's …. it's Xander's cane, it's broken. And there's a note."

"Read it." She listened.

She called to Munch, told him,

"You find Shreiner, you call me, yah? Thiago," she said, "we gotta go."

**-30-**

Next: -------------

. **Chapter 16: Faith has a salad.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Faith has a salad**.

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

**Chapter 16: Faith has a salad.**

Mather put his arm around Shreiner's shoulders, said,

"Detective, I'm afraid our time together is at an end. I can only keep track of so many servants at a time and I'm afraid you became surplus when you tipped your hand. The prize was well worth it, though. And you have been useful in your time. So I am going to give you a reward."

He walked the detective across the altar room, pushed aside a sliding panel to reveal an opening in the wall covered in iron bars.

"I'm going to give you a chance to live." Mather pulled a lever and the bars rose up, he kicked a pile of cables that revealed itself to be a ladder as it slithered over the edge into the darkness behind the opening. Mather waved and one of the girls brought over a freshly lit torch which he handed to Shreiner. The detective started down.

Not that far, really, twenty-five, thirty feet, it didn't take him long. Mather waved for one of the Fyarls to pull the ladder back up.

"I'm a fair man, Detective," Mather called down, "there is a tunnel that will lead you to the subway. Find your way out and you're a free man. Other tunnels lead to … other places. Good luck, Detective," and Mather smiled coldly, waved his palm and released the man from his control. He watched as the detective sagged to his knees and shook his head and then surged to his feet in rage,

"You sonuvabitch! I'll kill you!"

Mather stepped back as Shreiner drew his weapon and fired twice.

"I'd save your ammo, Detective," he called, "you're not alone down there." Then he crossed over past the altar to don his ceremonial robe and seat himself on his throne and he called to one of the waiting demons,

"Bring me my new policeperson, please."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"So when is Red coming?" Faith demanded.

Georgianne squared her shoulders to face Faith's anger,

"She's in Bhutan, the slayer there had some trouble with a demonic monastery and Willow went to help. Giles is trying to reach her now."

"You told him…."

"I told him everything, Faith, he knows, she'll be here as soon as she can." She decided not to pass on Giles' weary comment,

"Lord, George, if we put Willow on full alert every time Xander got in trouble…."

"Goddamnit, George," Faith started.

"I know, Faith, I know. She'll be here when she can, right now it's up to us. First, we eat."

"What! How the fuck can you even…."

"Faith… Faith, listen," George took her life in her hands and grabbed the slayer's arm as she turned to stomp away, "We don't know where he is, if we go charging off in all directions we'll just get him killed. Everyone's all upset and panicking, I need you to be cool, I need them to be cool. I need you to take charge in the kitchen. There's leftover pork and other cold cuts, cheese. Tomatoes. Sprouts. We need a big pot of soup. And we need to make sandwiches, lots of sandwiches, make up some packages so that we can take them with. Army travels on its stomach and all that. When that's done do a weapons check. Tell Caridad, Thiago and Isobel to meet me in the library in five. Go. Go!"

Faith stared at her a moment, then nodded, turned and left and Georgianne sagged back to her desk and thought, _I just gave Faith an order_. And Faith, not exactly in a happy mood. Faith. An order. _And she obeyed_.

She looked down at the paper on her desk, needlessly looking over words already memorized;

**My dear Ms. Travers;**

**We are sure you will recognize the enclosed cane and understand what it represents. It is so useful having friends in law enforcement.**

**You will comply with the demands set out below, or the next gift you receive from us will be a video of Mr. Harris eating his right hand. Raw, or perhaps grilled, we haven't yet decided. With A-1 sauce if we are feeling generous.**

**In any case, he will have it for breakfast, and a similar meal every six hours until you either comply or there is nothing left but Mr. Harris' admittedly charming smile.**

**Four slayers of your choice will present themselves to the bartender at Vrashnik's Bar and Grill at precisely nine p.m. They will be weaponless and they will follow the instructions they are given at that time. These will come in the form of an email to the bar, so we assure you there is no point in interrogating the bartender in advance.**

**The instructions will of course inevitably put the four slayers under our control. The remainder of your happy family will immediately leave the Cleveland area. We will know if you remain within the city. Within forty-eight hours Andrew the Wise will post on his website a photograph of yourself and the remaining slayers in front of a recognizable landmark at least two hundred miles beyond the Cleveland city limits. You will be holding a current newspaper with visible headlines.**

**As a show of good faith, we will then release Mr. Harris. The four slayers will remain as hostages and will act under our control for, shall we say, one year? After which it maybe possible to arrange an annual exchange, new slayers for old.**

**You may, perhaps, find this arrangement distasteful. On the other hand, neither Mr. Harris nor any slayer will die.**

**We wish only to be left alone to live in the manner for which we are most naturally suited.**

**No doubt if you bring in the Witch and marshal your forces you will eventually locate and defeat us. If that is your decision, then so be it, but in that case, while Harris will be the first to die, we assure you he won't be the last.**

**Sincerely,**

**The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Demons**

**Free Cleveland Committee**

Georgianne knew full well what the council's decision would be. Not even Giles would put slayers in such a vulnerable position in order to rescue Xander. Or anyone else, to be fair.

She had the glimmerings of an idea. If it didn't work that would be the end of her career. But then again, if it didn't work her career would be the least of her concerns. She stood and headed for the library to find what she needed to turn idea into plan. Knowledge, she reminded herself, is power.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As cunning plans went Benson thought she preferred the one where she was rescued by superheroes to the one where she threw warm piss in the giant monster's face and ran like hell.

But, absent a third alternative and without a superhero in sight, she was going with plan pee. She giggled.

She thought about writing her report. She laughed out loud.

Then she heard two shots, tap-tap, like a cop shooting and she had slight surge of hope that Elliot had come… But that was it, just the two shots and perhaps the murmur of distant voices raised briefly.

Then the scrape of the bolt and the Thing was coming in the door and she felt her heart freeze as it started toward her… and then Xander was talking to it,

"Hey there, big fella, do a man a favor here, 'cause my nose, I gotta tell ya, just a little scratch, waddya say, you gotta spare arm or two what's a little scratch between friends…"

And then the Thing looked at Xander, hissed something clearly translatable into "Shut up you," and Benson made her move. They had cut the top off the bottle to give it a wide opening, she ran forward, took the bottle in both hands and thrust forward and caught the thing full in the face with the contents.

There was smoke. There was a low keening. Its tentacles snapped back and wrapped around its face like a closed fist, the Thing fell and lay on the ground rocking in pain. Benson stared in stunned surprise until Xander's voice penetrated, steadily repeating,

"Keys, Olivia, keys, Detective, keys…" and she came out of it, nervously reached in and opened the Thing's fanny pack, found the heavy keychain and went to open Xander's chains.

Then he was free and moving past her to pick up the thin metal tray the food and water had come on and he was straddling the back of the … demon and he raised the tray and brought it down hard, cutting into the back of the Thing's neck, one, twice, the third time and the head came off in a spray of blue-gray ichor and Xander had her hand and was pulling her out the door and slamming it shut.

"One down," he said, "which way's the altar?" She pointed and, walking with slightly lopsided gait to favor his leg, he led her in the other direction, stopping to check any doors they passed.

"What are we looking for?" she whispered.

"Exits and weapons, in that order," he whispered back.

They hit a dead end, or rather a steel garage sized door, but could find no controls, so they started back, slowly Benson began to feel more comfortable, began to slip back into cop mode. He was right, a weapon would make it all so much … less really horrible. He found an open door, started in, then backed rapidly out, turned and leaned against the wall a moment in a fight-the-urge-to-wretch pose she recognized immediately. And wondered, given his blithe decapitation of the demon, just what it took to gross him out, and decided she didn't want to know.

And then they were moving on, he found another open door and he peered carefully in, then pulled her along inside.

"Score," he said. The walls were covered in bondage paraphernalia in awesome variety, but Xander made a beeline for a mannequin in the corner sporting a classical executioner's hood. And axe. "Yes," she heard him add in relief, "it's real."

Benson found a bullwhip coiled on a hook on the back wall, she took it down and careful in the confined space practiced a couple swings and looked up to see Xander watching her with a bemused look,

"What?" she asked, and he turned suddenly away, answered,

"Oh, nothing, nothing, not a thing."

"The Fyarls are strong as hell, but fairly clumsy and slow," Xander had explained while they were waiting in the cell, "the P-heads are pretty fast but soft for a demon, dogface is mean in the clinch but if you go right at him he'll probably run, Mather must have some powers we don't know about yet so don't take him lightly… just remember; Everything has a weakness somewhere. We go in fast and loud and looking for the way out, any way out. You see a way out you go, do not, repeat, do not worry about me. Best thing you can do for me is get out and find my girls and tell them where I am. Olivia, I mean that, run and don't look back."

Down the hall they could hear Mather complaining about the delay, she felt Xander give her arm a quick squeeze, then launch himself out the door as another Thing went past and lost its head to single swing of Xander's axe, then he was off in a lurching run and screaming to make Bruce Li proud and Benson followed after, letting her own voice reach the higher registers and making the whip crack.

They had a stand-off for awhile, each of the demons waiting for one of the others to be the first to tangle with Xander's whirring axe while Mather sat back and taunted his minions for their cowardice. Benson stood behind Xander and searched the walls for exits but found only one, a black hole in the wall that seemed less than inviting.

And then a door opened behind Mather and she had a momentary surge of hope until she saw that the elevator was full of more demons, some armed now with swords and axes of their own. They were spilling into the room and there was no more time and no where else to go, so she grabbed at Xander's arm and pulled him and they ran. She found the piled cables and recognized with relief that it was a ladder and she bent and pushed it into the hole and half dived half fell after it and scrambled down, feeling Xander's weight shaking the cables as he came after.

Then they were down and looking up at Mather's enraged face as he ordered the demons to follow,

"Let the woman go but I need Harris!" and the dogface demon turning to stare at Mather and answer,

"Are you fucking crazy? I'm not going down there. I know what's in those caves."

And Benson saw him reach and pull a lever and she saw the iron bars descend, and settle into place. And the demon moved and pulled the panel shut and there was darkness.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith had a salad.

In normal circumstances this would be a red letter day of perhaps apocalyptic portent, but after reading the ransom note even the idea of meat turned her stomach. She had gotten the girls started on the sandwiches and then quickly escaped to the armory where she began laying out weapons and attempted to soothe her impatience by sharpening blades. It had worked, a little, enough that she was able to feel her own hunger, hence the salad.

She ate mechanically, fueling the engine, but without the whetstone and the cold steel to keep her busy she felt the rage returning. She decided she'd give George another half an hour, then she was going to start killing things. Something in the underworld knew where Xander was. She'd take five slayers and just start at one demon hangout and totally destroy it and move on to the next. Something would give.

She heard the office phone ring, heard George pick it up down in the library. It was a brief conversation, she heard the study group arguing for a moment, then George was bounding up the stairs and into the dining room, demanding to know which magic shop in town carried the most complete line of raw ingredients, and after a brief debate got an answer. She sent Thiago off with a list of supplies to get and two slayers to watch his back, then she turned to Faith, said,

"Faith, we've had a stroke of luck, Willy called, there's some vamp at his place says he wants to make a deal."

"I'm on it," Faith said, leaping up then paused, "shit, George you shoulda had Thiago teleport me before…"

"Thiago needs to save his strength. Take the truck, the vamp will wait, he's the one called us. This is what we needed, Faith, please remember NOT to kill anyone BEFORE they talk."

"I'll be cool," Faith said.

"Faith, wait," Zoey caught up with her just she was opening the door to Xander's truck, "I need to show you something."

"Not now, kid," Faith answered, "I gotta go."

"Faith, trust me, you're gonna want to see this first. It'll be… faster this way."

"Okay, this better be good." Faith growled and stomped after Zoey who was bouncing eagerly ahead, far too happy for Faith's mood. They went in to the garage and over to Zoey's work area, partially covered now by a big tarp.

"This was 'sposed to be a big surprise, me and Xander were going to get it all fixed up for you but I guess maybe we need it now," and she pulled the tarp off to reveal the big motorcycle underneath, looking strangely predatory and insectile with the bulky tank and the front fender jabbing out like a bee's stinger.

Faith stopped and stood speechless, while Zoey rambled on,

"I've only had time to do a basic tune-up, but I was gonna put a lower seat in, bit tall for a girl your size but I figure, slayer, you can handle it, 'sides, it already has engine bars, you gotta lay it down, lay it down. I was gonna paint it of course, I figure stick with the original red and black and you could do whatever personal stuff later. I was figuring a sword sheath here. And I was thinking, I could machine a better windshield and put in a couple slots so you could mount a crossbow or maybe even, like an extendable pole with a stake…" she came to a rambling stop as she noticed Faith's stunned expression.

"What, how," Faith mumbled.

"It's a '96, we got a pretty good deal, only about forty-thousand on the clock, which is nothing on a beemer. Personally I like the way it looks but I know there's some that think it ain't that pretty, maybe not as pretty as your Harley was, but the 1100GS is a real warhorse. But if you don't like it we can trade…"

"Kid," Faith said, "if you don't shut up I'm gonna cry and we don't have time for that."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Carla wasn't having the best of days.

Jimmy had been acting kinda squirrelly all afternoon, making secret phone calls and generally just being hyper, asking her stupid questions about the Master which was just embarrassing now. Jimmy was generally okay and all, but she missed hanging with the girls and while the blood here at Willy's was fine and all, she kept thinking about the taste of that kill and craving and … damn. That damn slayer was back again.

Willy's was okay and all but maybe, she thought, we could think about hanging out somewhere a damn _slayer _doesn't show up every other night.

And maybe, even more so, a lot, we could go somewhere where the damn slayer didn't turn and walk over to her booth and sit across from her, casually lay a stake on the table and say things like,

"So, Carla, right? I hear you got some info for me."

Carla stared at the stake.

"Don't fight it baby, Jimmy done sold you out, two months blood, two passes. Well, actually, he held out so you both got the deal, it was kinda touching and romantic. Baby," Carla felt the slayer's hand reach under her chin and pull her eyes up into the slayer's intense stare, "seriously, you help me out on this one I'm gonna have a real soft spot for ya."

"I can show you," Carla whispered.

"Let's go then," and the slayer had a grip on her arm and they were starting toward the door when three demons suddenly stood and blocked the way and one said,

"Enough, Slayer! You think you can just come into to our…." and then his forehead sprouted a dagger, his chest developed a sudden stake infection and he stumbled and fell over and Carla felt iron fingers gripping the back of her neck, which was totally unnecessary because she hadn't even thought of running, while the slayer's other hand waved a sword in lazy circle eights and Carla heard her say,

"Next," and the two demons charged and, for what was probably only a few seconds but seemed longer, Carla lived the life of a rag doll in the dryer as the slayer held her with one hand and fought with the other until they were both standing in a pile of demon parts and the slayer was asking Willy,

"What the hell got into them?"

Then they were moving toward the door again and she had to tap frantically on the slayer's shoulder, said,

"Sir, sir, please wait, sir, please.." and the slayer turned and stared and said,

"_What did you call me?"_

"Sir…Ma'am… Slayer, please…. _It's not dark yet_."

"Oh, yeah. Good point. And you can call me Faith, allright? Willy, I need a doggy bag."

The body bag stank. Faith had sent Willy back to get a new one after he'd tried to give her one that was still wet, but Carla could tell this one wasn't new, just….dried. Then she was flopped over Faith's shoulder and they were going up the stairs, then out the door and she knew the sunlight was just a thin layer of black vinyl from her skin and she could almost feel the burning start, she couldn't help but squirm a little, then there were voices,

"Ma'am is this your motorcycle… what's in the bag, ma'am?" then a grunt a soft thud and another voice,

"Hey… Hands in the air and on your knees NOW!"

And Faith muttering an aside, "They're all the same, ain't they," and Carla felt herself laid on the pavement, heard quick footsteps and another sudden gasp and thud. Then she was picked up and laid over a motorcycle seat, her torso in the slayer's lap and the engine started up inches from her face and they were moving at what she could tell was not a sedate pace.

So naturally, just as she was thinking, _How can this day possibly get any worse?_ the sirens started, the motorcycle accelerated, began to take crazy turns and bounce over rough surfaces.

Carla was having the kind of day that when she was finally dumped on the floor and freed from her body bag the sight of fifteen waiting slayers was a relief.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Fin was shaking his head when Munch came back to the car with the coffees. Munch handed one back to Stabler, gave Fin his, sat and said,

"What?"

Fin turned the radio down and answered,

"Some brunette biker chick carrying a squirming body bag just took out two traffic cops and eluded a chase. Sound like anyone we know?"

"When you say took out…."

"Knocked out, handcuffed to each other in the back seat of their car in what wrestlers like to call the north-south position."

"I 'spose we better go see what's what. Unless you got any better ideas?"

"Not me. Elliot, you got any ideas?" Stabler shrugged.

They'd called every number in Pavlova's book, and learned that she had a lot of worried friends but nothing that seemed useful.

They'd been to Shriener's sad little house with its refrigerator half full of Hungry Man frozen dinners and half full of St. Pauli Girl Special Dark. In one closet they'd found a dusty suitcase full of aged family photographs and legal papers. But nothing anywhere to indicate he was receiving any extra money or had anything to hide, not that Fin and Munch were really looking anymore. They figured when they found him there'd be brands on his chest and backside.

But Stabler was still looking for logic. He was bit subdued now, for a cop whose wife had recently left him, Shreiner's house was a scary place, a little bit of _this could happen to you_. And Olivia was still missing and they didn't have a clue, and people were appearing out thin air …. Some kind of trick, obviously, they jumped off some kind of silenced helicopter or something, had to be.

And Munch and Fin had gone crazy. Demons, vampires, just no, the world wasn't like that, couldn't be. The church talked of devils, he knew that, but those were only metaphors for human behavior, explanations for the kind of evil that Stabler knew all too well was human. He'd seen what people did, had sat in little rooms with perpetrators of true horrors, and there had been only vile and pathetic humanity, no demons and no devils.

He wanted to see Olivia. Failing that he wanted to hit something, pound the world back into shape, but he didn't know where to start.

"Elliot, you got any ideas?" He shrugged. No. Not one.

Fin drove, parked in front of the girls home and the three detectives went to the door and knocked, waited, then Faith was there.

"Yeah? What's up?"

Munch spoke, "On the radio, we heard something that sounded like you, thought that maybe you could use a little help?"

"You're here to help?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. Maybe smooth things over with the traffic..."

"Detectives," Faith interrupted, "there ain't no smoothing over. There's heavy shit happening tonight. If you wanna help, I figure we can use you, but if you come in now you come all the way in. Neck deep in monkey-puke lake, ya got me? George is boss and you'll take her orders. Try to leave once you come in and I'll kill you myself. Really, I'd go home now if I was you. It ain't really your fight."

Munch and Fin looked once at one another, Munch shrugged and went inside, and Fin followed and left Faith alone with Stabler.

Faith said, "I don't know if our target has your partner, but I think he does. I don't know if she is alive, but if she is, we'll save her. In or out. Now."

Stabler shrugged and went in, Faith closed the door.

"Have a sandwich," she told him.

**-30-**

-------------

Next:. **Chapter 17: Pet, petting, petted.**


	17. Chapter 17

** Chapter 17: Pet, petting, petted.**

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 17: Pet, petting, petted.**

At first it was total blackness, then slowly as her eyes adjusted Benson saw a tiny glimmer of light in the distance. She did a quick check for damage and found none beyond a few scratches on her hands, she assured Xander she was okay when he asked and he reciprocated.

Without needing to discuss it they started for the light, Xander led the way, using the shaft of the axe to probe in the darkness for any ankle-sprain or leg-breakingly deep holes. So far the floor of what seemed to be an immense cavern consisted of alternating stretches of flat bare rock and low piles of largish gravel, with scattered larger rocks. Benson could hear water trickling somewhere, and could smell moisture in the air but on the whole the cave was drier than she would have expected, had she ever given the subject much thought. They were following along one wall, still after counting to a hundred Xander stopped and made a small cairn, since, he said, he'd left all his breadcrumbs at home.

They came to the light a little after the third cairn. Disappointingly, it was just a torch like the ones that had burned on the walls in Mather's altar room. Xander held it up and the light flared a little and they found Shreiner's body. Well, his foot.

"That's not good," Xander said.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

There was a girl chained to the wall in the basement.

_Ha_, Stabler thought, _I knew it_.

He was still carrying the pretzled crowbar the little blonde girl had given him,

"Don't even start," she'd said, held up the steel bar, tied it in knot and handed it to him, "when you straighten that with your hands you can come and tell me all about how little girls should let big strong men fight the monsters, okay? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. George knows you're here and when she has time she'll brief you."

He'd sat at the dining room table with Munch and Fin for awhile. They'd been given a laptop with a powerpoint presentation, _"Demons and How to Kill Them,"_ cued up. He'd watched for awhile, tried to concentrate but simply couldn't, it was all still too fantastic. Munch and Fin going on about how they'd seen one of the blue ones in a bar the other night didn't help.

He'd loitered in the TV room, looking over the DVD titles, noticing how many titles were familiar from his own daughters' collections and conversation. He tried to watch TV for awhile but nothing held his attention. He went into the kitchen, hesitated, then thought fuckit, and took a beer.

He wandered downstairs and stood puzzled. He'd searched this place. There were whole rooms now that hadn't been here before, a room full of computers and security monitors, another room lined with books, more computers, a conference table covered now with maps, and filled with a sort of controlled frenzy as girls came and went. Clearly a war room, except instead of grey haired generals there were gum chewing girls, the entire quiet chaos overseen by a woman only a little older than Maureen. He recognized Mary Poppins and felt a slight twinge of sympathy for her opponent, whoever the hell he was.

There were weapons, too, that the search had somehow missed, crossbows and assorted swords and daggers, a collection of switchblades. There were axes and throwing stars, wooden staffs and spears and all manner of sharpened stakes, all laid out in the dojo, waiting to be selected. He reached down and tested one of the axe blades and drew back a bloody finger.

And, sitting quietly in the corner was a girl in chains. Well, chain, anyway, a shackle on her ankle attached by heavy links to a thick o-ring on the wall. She had a stack of magazines and a bottle of mineral water and looked more bored than terribly abused, but certainly not all that happy. Stabler walked over her, asked,

"So what did you do, wear last year's nail polish?" and she looked up, stared up at him with the blank contempt that was a teenage girl's natural state when facing middle-aged men. She was a small girl, but wiry, with a gamine quality that hit Stabler right in the paternal instinct.

"What?" she asked. He indicated the chain. "Oh. That. They just think if they let me go I'd run off and blab their stupid plan. It's stupid. I don't even know their stupid plan for one thing, and, 'sides, who would I tell?"

"So you don't live here?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. Or, you know, stupid. "_NO_," she said. "I live downtown."

"With your parents?" He turned and sat, leaned back against the wall beside her, careful to leave a couple feet between them so as not to invade her space.

"My folks, please! With my boyfriend."

"Aren't you a little young to live with your boyfriend?"

"Better than the streets."

"He treat you okay?"

"Yeah. Jimmy's pretty cool. I'm kinda mad at him now, though, 'cause it's mostly his fault I'm here. I mean, he could at least of talked to me first."

"How old is this guy, Jimmy?"

"I don't know, really. He's got some pretty old music. But then some of that old stuff is pretty cool and he's got some new stuff, too."

"Yeah, what kind of old stuff does Jimmy like…."

This was better, Stabler thought, this at least felt familiar, drawing the girl out, letting her ramble on about bands and boys while he gave her the interested look and made encouraging noises. So he couldn't fight monsters for the supergirls but maybe he could do something for this kid. Get her back in school, away from this perv Jimmy, something.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was irrational, Benson knew, but she felt so much better, holding Shreiner's pistol in her hand. The fact that there were only four rounds left in the clip and the only other sign of the detective they'd found was his foot, obviously meant that the gun hadn't done him much good. Still, it was comforting. Nevertheless she sucked it up and offered the weapon to Xander who was after all the more experienced … whatever the hell he was. Happily he waved off the gun,

"Oh, no," he said, "Keep it. Guns not really my thing."

"Why not?" she asked. "Monster hunter. I'd expect you to at least be used to carrying a .50 caliber elephant gun, I mean, they're sorta like big game, right? Why limit yourself?"

"You gotta remember, I'm not the philosopher, you really need to get with Giles… or maybe George if you want to get the full story… But it's something like parity. You remember the Midnight Riots in LA a couple years ago, wiped out several blocks…"

"The paramilitary gangs on PCP, yeah," she said and Xander laughed.

"Do you do that in New York, too? Gangs on PCP?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pretty much a standard euphemism for vampires in California."

Benson found herself thinking back, wondering.

"Anyway, LA, not so much with the PCP, more with the demon war. Things… escalated a bit out there. Big death on both sides. And now, we have a slayer house in Silver Lake and Wolfram and Hart has a new office, and not much has changed. Maybe that has to happen sometimes. Maybe if it hadn't happened things would be a lot worse instead of just the same. Anyhow, point is, I use bigger guns, they use bigger guns, we all end up dead…. Plus, big guns, expensive. We did you use a rocket launcher once, but we had to steal that from the army."

"You stole…"

"Hey, statute of limitations… Or, at least, good luck finding evidence, and I'm pleading the fifth."

"I wasn't going to…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, cop. Can't help yourself. So, we got a decision to make."

"What?"

"We can go back and wait by the door we came in, we can keep following the wall here, or we can head out across the middle and follow what look to me like tire tracks, what do you think?"

"What do you think got Shreiner?" she asked.

"No idea, I'm just kinda hoping it's full after a big meal."

"Tracks," she said.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith was happy.

George had a plan. There was action coming. She tried to hang in the war room but she just couldn't. George would call her if she needed her. She went bounding up the stairs toward the garage, behind her she could hear laughter,

"Faith has to go pet her motorcycle again."

Well, she did. She ran her hand over the seat, the tank, caressed the hand controls, breathed deep the scent of oil and asphalt. Riding it had brought back hard the other reasons she'd loved the Harley, the freedom of it, the sense of being in the world, of the world as she flew down the highway, the feeling matched only by the times she ran full out through some cemetery and even slayer power grew tired in time.

It was freedom and Xander had given it to her and so she knew that now when she rode she would no longer be running desperately away, but instead speeding toward him, even if sometimes she took the long way, just to enjoy the ride.

And tonight she would see him, and thank him, she could feel it in her bones. And after she was done thanking him, he would feel it in his bones too. Among other places.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"You lying bitch!" Mather shouted, slamming down his fist and staring into Madame Pavlova's eyes.

"You know I cannot lie to you," she answered. "I can only tell you what I see. They are coming."

"Here?"

"Here."

"But how do they know…. And they can't possibly know Harris is free yet."

"They are coming."

"Then we best be ready."

"You're sure it works," Georgianne asked and Thiago nodded.

"We've tested it three times now."

"Very well, then. We'll just hope this guy is consistent in his methods. How are you feeling?"

"I am strong. I can't get you in, there is a … protection of some sort, but I might be able to move people out once we get there."

"Good. Go and rest then. Isobel, I'm ready for New York's finest."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Detective Stabler," Isobel said, "just so we're clear here, you do know she's vamp, right?"

"What?"

"Carla is our informant. You know, Detective, you were pretty safe 'cause I don't think Carla is stupid enough to try anything here, and we were keeping an eye on you, but it's really not a good idea to tempt them like that. She's stronger than she looks."

"You're telling that that little girl is ….."

"Show the man, Carla…."

"Show him what?"

"Carla, you know I can force you…"

"Fine, whatever." She went into vamp face, fangs, yellow eyes and all, said, "Boo."

Stabler rocked back, stumbled and Isobel caught him, held him steady.

"But she's just… a girl, she was like any other girl."

"She was once, Detective. She's not anymore. You ever take your kids to a petting zoo, and if you haven't pretend you have, okay? You pet a sheep, maybe feed a cow, then you go home and have lamb chops or a steak. You've just been petted. But you're still a lamb chop."

The other two detective had come to join them.

Isobel said, "C'mon, George is ready for you." But Stabler lingered, staring back at the girl, still seeing the yellow eyes and the emerging fangs replaying in a loop in his head.

"C'mon, Lamb Chop," Munch said, "Destiny awaits."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Georgianne gave out the last assignments, allowed herself a couple minutes to sag in the quiet of the finally empty library, then she picked up the phone and called Giles and laid it all out for him. Answered the questions he had for her, then waited as he thought.

"Well, George," he said after awhile. "I certainly appreciate the part of the plan where you wait until it's too late for me to do anything to stop you before calling. You're certainly taking some risks but…"

"I didn't really have much choice."

"No, you didn't," he answered, "as I was saying, you're taking risks but they seem…. necessary. It's a good plan, George, I have every hope for success. And George…"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm quite proud of you. And, odd though it is to say it, I think your grandfather would be proud as well, which means I should probably re-evaluate my position. Tell Xander I said hello."

Georgianne Travers smiled, quickly wiped away a bit of salty water from her eye that should have known better, and certainly wasn't a tear. She dialed a number on her cell and Faith answered,

"Yeah?"

"Go," George told her, and heard the motorcycle and then the truck start up and move away.

She stood, went out and crossed to the weapon display, deliberately picked out for herself a stake, dagger and crossbow, turned back to face the eager gaze of her assembled forces, about half of them dressed in the traditional battle halter top, Georgianne had some thoughts about that, but this was not the time, she said,

"Xander's waiting. Let's go."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Carla clung to the Slayer's back. No one was ever going to believe this. Not that it was a story she was going to tell often. She was still new at this undead thing but even she knew that "_How I became a slayer's pet,"_ was not the sort of tale that went down well 'round the fire at vampire camp-outs.

It had been nice, talking to that old guy. Her father had never talked to her like that, you know, really listening and all. She'd been hoping, well, fantasizing really, she knew that, but she'd had a spark of hope, that the slayers, being all busy with secret plans and all, would let the man take her home. She didn't even want to kill him, really, just to curl up in his lap and feel his heart beat and drink a couple warm pints. He was a big guy, he could spare that. Or she would have gone down on him, if he wanted, like Jimmy told her about, he wasn't bad looking for an old guy. But the lap thing is what she really wanted.

But no. Some slayer had to come take him away and make her show him her vamp face and she'd seen the disgust in his eyes and that just ruined the whole thing. She'd seen that look too often before, from her own father when he'd caught her making out with Billy Watson, from just the average passer-by when she was living on the streets. So that was over and since that wasn't bad enough Faith had to come and unlock her, help her up, tell her she was coming with.

"I figure you been in that place, maybe you'll be useful. Now, I ain't gonna lock you up, you run off first chance you get and I'm gonna let ya. But you lose all your points if you do. You come with and help out, you get beaucoup points and for a bonus, if you get to this Master guy first, you can bite him. Deal?"

"I don't have to get in the bag again, do I?" Carla had said.

So they'd ridden down to where the RTA train went underground and Faith had ripped aside the fence and heaved the motorcycle up on her back and carried it over a couple barriers and set it down on the service way that ran along side the trains.

"I'm going ahead," Faith had called back to the other slayers who were clambering out of the truck, "when I find the entry I'll leave a flare. You catch up when you can." And then she'd waited for Carla to get back on behind her, said, "Hang on, kid, could get bumpy," and they were off.

God, Carla thought, will this day never end?

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Jeremy Pridmore was learning to hate the Hellmouth. Yes, it was a comforting presence, gave you that little extra bit of juice, bit of power when the sun went down that he hadn't had before. But it wasn't worth it.

He was old Cleveland, born bred and sired here, and when the time came his dust would fall in the familiar streets and alleys and so be it. He'd made a life, not the most exciting, but he liked it. Steady blood, a careful kill now and then. There were movies and music and little book of lady friends.

And then the Hellmouth opened under Cleveland and brought with it that great horror known as family. Relatives. Coming out of the freaking woodwork He truly wished his Grand-sire would be a little less active and a lot more selective when he was. What on earth possessed him, Jeremy wondered, to spend so much time in Appalachia?

Jeremy was aware that not all vampires viewed family bonds as quite the obligation that he did, but Jeremy had standards and responsibilities that he believed in. Family might often be distasteful but it was an institution worth preserving, all the more so as one's years grew long. The young ones would come to understand in time, if they didn't get dusted first.

The hellmouth drew them and they came, showed up on his door with Grandad's card and signature and it was his duty to find them a place to stay and entertain them, which was why he was here at Vrashnik's Bar and Grill, a dive he would normally avoid but which seemed appropriate for his cousins Lucas and Alonzo, recently arrived straight from palookaville and eager for the big city sights. It was just a little before nine and the place was barely half-full. They just got settled and ordered drinks when four girls came in, wearing tight jeans and v-neck t-shirts that didn't have "_Bite me!"_ written across the chest but might as well have. Jeremy was sure he could actually hear his cousins salivating.

"Gawdamn, little brother, look what we been missing," Lucas said, "So, what's the deal here, cousin Jer, we gotta bid for them or what?"

Jeremy was tempted to just tell to them it was first come first serve and let them get dusted. Granddad would, well, Granddad would laugh his ass off at the story, but it wasn't Jeremy's way.

"They're slayers," he said, "you morons." He had to be hospitable. He didn't always have to be polite.

The slayers had a rather grim look about them, and Jeremy began marking the exits in his mind as they approached the rather startled bartender. But the bartender turned the computer screen behind the cash register around and one of the girls nodded, and they passed through the bar and out the back, Jeremy heard the sound of tires squealing as a vehicle rushed away. Jeremy relaxed. Whatever terrible thing was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen here.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Ha, you stupid bitch," Mather said, shouting in Pavlova's face. "Shows what you know. We've got them. They're coming allright, just like I told them too. You better do better, old woman, or I'll find you surplus too."

He turned away then, and didn't see Madame Pavlova smile.

She carried the torch and walked a little ahead, keeping her eyes on the scuff marks and disturbed rocks they really and truly hoped was a trail. Xander was having a little trouble with his leg going over the rough terrain, so they moved slowly, talking in low voices. She told him of some of her cases, he told a few war stories.

"I think what I do is easier," Xander said. "At least when I fight monsters, well, they're monsters. I've seen what a difference the soul makes, vampire with a soul, vampire without, it's like night and, well, kinda late in the afternoon on a cloudy day, but still, very visible difference. You have to deal with ... souls all the time."

He paused, reached out to hold the torch while she built another cairn.

"I think wizard boy may have had a point, though," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I think maybe I have gotten soft a little. I was putting so much effort into making the girls lives as normal as possible, which is important but still… I let the girls get into a routine, sort of let the demons have their space as long as they stayed out of sight. And I let this guy slip under my radar. Ouch. Shit."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just stubbed my toe. Still," he added after a moment, "it's not as clear is it used to be. I was pretty much, see demon, kill demon when I started all this. Now, it's not that simple. I don't know if this is true or not, but one of the stories I heard in Africa, Uganda actually, there's a rebel group in the north, likes to steal kids from villages and make them soldiers, they had a slayer… Anyway, the story is, one of the ways they punished kids who tried to escape was to tie a dog to their back, and we're not talking Chihuahuas here, pour gas on the dog's back and set the dog on fire… true or not, no demon would come up with an idea like that. Well, very few, any way. I used to … know a vengeance demon, she used to tell me stories. She used to make things happen, bad things, nasty. But she was granting wishes, oh she'd make suggestions but she said it was humans who came up with the really evil stuff. Vampires are more like … mosquitoes. A bit more disgusting but not half as deadly. And just being true to their nature. Point is, I don't feel so much the righteous warrior anymore, more like the exterminator. Rat-catcher. Necessary but not so much with the glamour, you know?"

"Yeah," Benson answered. "I think so. Why don't you quit?"

"Tried. Couldn't. The girls still need me. I think. Also, truth, bored. You?"

"Madame Pavlova told me I should set a time, and quit. Go find a quiet place and detox. She said I wouldn't know until I tried. It's tempting."

"Well, the wiccans are all about the purity and the cleansing of the self."

"There was a perp once, sociopath, cult leader, tried to play mind games with me. Told me the crimes I dealt with, the pain, would eat me up, become me. And hell, con man, evil bastard, I ignored him. But still, he got to me a little. Your friend in the leather..… she reamed me out pretty good…"

"Well, Faith has… issues with authority. Not without reason, mind you. Tends to see the dark side a bit. Knows her own, sees it in others."

"I think she was right. At least a little. It's not just about the victims or the law. It's about the hunt. The capture. I like to punish. It's personal. I don't think I could do the job if it wasn't. I don't think I could ever just lay on a beach and be pure. Course just at the moment a bit of sand, a bright sun and a Corona would really hit the spot."

They walked in silence for awhile.

"You're right," she said after awhile. "Some humans are truly evil. Maybe even worse than demons. But some aren't, most aren't. And they need … people with a little darkness on their side."

"Shh," Xander whispered, "did you hear that? Over there, to the right."

Benson held out the torch.

"_Oh shit_," she said, "_what the hell is that?"_

**-30-**

-------------

Next. **Chapter 18: Biff! Pow! The Black Knight Rides**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: Biff! Pow! The Black Knight Rides**

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 18: Biff! Pow! The Black Knight Rides**

It was a clever plan. It involved an elevator with a hidden back door, two demons with pressurized sprayers full of Ovid's Petals powder, a parking garage and five identical white vans.

And, whatthehell. It worked. The detectives sat and watched first the single decoy van speed off, then the four other vans emerge from the underground garage and speed off in all directions.

"Shit," Munch said, and dialed his cell.

"Travers."

"You were right, there were four, we couldn't follow, you sure you don't want us to call in…."

"No, no, we're still good. Go ahead to Plan B. I'll call when we're ready for you."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mather closed the phone, the slayers were in the van, the vans were all enroute. Everything was going well. It worried him.

He looked across the table to where Madame Pavlova sat and he willed her to raise her right arm and she did. He willed her to raise her left arm and she did. He willed her to dance a round in a little circle and she did. He let her sit again.

"You have nothing else to tell me?" he asked her.

"Nothing. They come."

Mather went to check that the demons were all in they're assigned defensive positions. Demons, he knew from experience, not the most reliable creatures in the world.

For as long as he could remember Mather had known of the existence of demons, for the simple reason that his father had had one chained up in the basement. He fed it live pigs and goats and calves and the occasional troublesome employee and thought of it simply as a useful animal. But Mather the younger had been a curious and lonely boy and, careful to stay out of the creature's reach, had spoken to it and had been somehow not terribly surprised when it had answered.

It looked rather like a giant frog, with a bit of piranha in the woodshed, and which had had a severe collision with an even larger cactus and merged somehow. Its name was something like _Zoznkzvjlrxvcshishi_, so Mather had called him Zonk and brought him magazines and newspapers and a little portable TV so he could watch the Indians' games.

"How can you stand to root for such losers?" Mather had asked him.

"But someday they will win," Zonk had answered, "and the victory will be so much sweeter. I'm three hundred and forty years old," he'd said. "I can wait."

In return Zonk had told Mather stories of demon life. At the time Mather had taken them as gospel but later, many years later, he had learned that Zonk was, to put it mildly, prone to exaggeration and a bit of outright fabrication, particularly his tales of a demon homeland. Though to be fair, after decades of being chained in a dark room he had probably come to believe his own fantasies. Still, to the boy it was a wonderful glimpse into a world much more interesting than his own dull existence of tutors and lessons and the occasional formal party where he was scorned by his guests, children of other local prominent families who knew him only as that weird Mather kid, sometimes seen shopping with his mother.

Those shopping trips ended when Mather was eleven and his father came home unexpectedly and discovered why Mather was rather fond of his French teacher, inasmuch as Mather was often allowed to go and play while the young man gave the lesson to his mother.

His father took them both down to see Zonk. Mather often wondered if his father had left the door open on purpose or he had simply been too angry to take his usual precautions, but the lovers' screams had echoed in the hallways as Mather sat on the stairs and listened.

Later, in tears he had reproached his friend, "She was my mother, how could you eat my mother?"

The demon had looked at him quizzically, head cocked to the side, "It's what I do," he'd answered. "It is my nature. Why does it matter?" It was a point Mather took back to his room to consider.

Shortly thereafter Mather had been shipped off to a high-priced boarding school for the traditional training in arrogance, sadism and sodomy. From there he'd gone on to college where he'd plunged himself into the study of the occult, thrilled to discover the works of the likes of Aleister Crowley, only in the end being forced to dismiss them as frauds, whether self-deluded or outright con artists. And then slowly he began to make inroads into the real thing, the first time he had floated a pencil he had nearly orgasmed with excitement. But he found that, though his knowledge increased, his power grew no stronger. He could float a pencil, he could ensorcel the occasional girl, but only if she was so inclined in the first place. He knew what could be done. He couldn't do it. He graduated. He came home.

His father took him into the business, showed him the ropes, began grooming him to take over in twenty years or so when his father decided to retire. Mather went to visit Zonk, and gave him chocolate shake laced with a mystic sleeping powder. When he was sure Zonk was out he poured acid on the demon's chains until they were barely attached to the wall. He waited. Three weeks later his father disappeared, as did Zonk. A simple glamour hid the basement entrance when the police searched. Mather took over the company in his father's absence, and seven years later he took full ownership.

He still moved in the local magical circles, picked up what he could of the gossip from the world underground but knew he was too weak to ever really join. He performed rituals and the occasional black mass, but that was mostly to pick up women willing to mount his altar, if they regretted the decision, well it was too late then, leather straps controlled them just well as magic and took less effort. He had drugs to confuse them after and he knew he had a reputation for being dangerous that drew them like moths to a flame. He was a melancholy but not truly unhappy man. His appetites were serviced, his dreams remained dreams and perhaps that was just as well.

And then three years ago he had been performing a dark ritual with an eye on a particularly voluptuous redhead when he had felt the power surge through him and the demon he had been invoking actually appeared in the candle-lit room, sending all but the most steadfast true believers running for the exits and a new appreciation for Sunday morning choir practice. The redhead had been forgotten as Mather sat with the demon and learned of the hellmouth that was opening beneath Cleveland, spreading several tendrils throughout the city, unlike the single portal in Sunnydale.

One of the tendrils reached into the caverns beneath his hilltop mansion, a little searching brought him to a newly formed seal. He conjured a guardian and began to study his new power, which, it turned out, consisted mostly of the power to control demons. For humans he had to resort to the use of spells, but now they worked on even the most strong willed of subjects. Before long Zonk's old stories of demonland took fresh root in his imagination and the plan was born.

And now it was coming to pass, the slayers were unconscious in his van and rapidly approaching his altar, and then nothing would stop him.

If only Madame Pavlova wouldn't smile like that.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Oh shit," Benson said, "what the hell is that?"

"I'm thinking world's biggest pet newt," Xander said, "but then I'm prone to unfounded optimism." He reached out and took the torch from her, held it higher, added, "Well, that's something you don't see every day. Even if you're me."

"Is that….?"

"Of course," Xander answered. "What else could it possibly be? The albino quality is a little surprising, but I guess it makes sense."

Benson heard a strange buzzing, a rattledragon? she wondered.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"Well," Xander said, "you know the joke about the two guys that meet a bear in the woods, first guy starts putting on his running shoes, other guy says you can't outrun a bear… well, this might be your lucky day, Detective."

"I won't…"

"Yeah, you will. Sometimes run like hell is the only thing you can do. Look," he pointed, she turned and saw a green glow in the distance that hadn't been there before, "you run like hell that way, I'll run like hell this way and with any luck the thing will die of indecision. Go!"

She looked back at the giant white lizard thing as it rose up, bumped its head on the cavern ceiling and lurched forward, gravel crunching underfoot and cracking like pistol shots.

"GO!" Xander repeated and she went.

She could smell the creature now, fetid and moist, she heard it hiss and her feet took wing, stumbling and crashing over the rough terrain, she saw a white light now in the center of the green, and hoped fervently it was the end of the tunnel and not the train, she ran. She ran. She heard the dragon roar and risked a glance back and saw that Xander, like all men, was a liar, and wasn't running at all but standing before the beast, torch waving in one hand, executioner's axe upraised, the blade covered in a dark fluid similar to that spraying from the creatures nostril, the buzzing was louder now, echoing off the walls.

She took another step, two steps away, she saw the white light growing brighter. She stopped. _What a stupid way to die_, she thought. But how could I live with myself if I leave him. She retrieved Shreiner's pistol from her waistband and holding it tight in her hand, turned back, catching her breath as the dragon snapped at Xander and he dived away, thrusting the axe at its eye but falling short.

The buzzing became a mechanical, pounding thrum, suddenly her shadow was racing ahead of her. And then a motorcycle went flashing past her, she ducked the spray of gravel and watched the machine and riders plunge on, moving so fast it seemed to just be passing over the top of the rocks.

She saw the passenger suddenly fly free, Benson winced as the girl landed, tucked in and tumbling head over heels but still hitting the rocks at a speed that had to kill. Benson ran toward her, still watching as the motorcycle and remaining rider, leatherclad, long black hair billowing, headed straight for the dragon then shifted at the last moment, there was a flash of silver and the beast screamed again and stumbled. In the red glow of the taillight Benson could see the blood spurting from the dragon's wounded leg, fire sprayed from its mouth, searing the cavern ceiling.

The motorcycle spun to a kidding stop, facing the dragon again. Benson saw the rider reach back into saddlebags and come out with a handful of sticks which flared suddenly with green light as she broke them, threw them in scattered pattern around the dragon, surreal now in the eerie viridian glow, surrounded in weird shadows, squaring to face its tormentor, drawing its head back for another flame.

The engine revved once, twice, began to scream, the back tire beginning to smoke and then the motorcycle shot forward beneath the dragon's billowing flame and this time the flash of silver drew a line of blood across the beast's chest and it roared in pain.

Benson came up to the rumpled passenger who turned out to be a wiry young girl, who, to Benson's amazement was sitting up and beginning to brush herself off.

"Hi," Benson said, "Are you okay? Who are you?"

"So fucking tired of this shit," the girl said.

"Oh," Benson said. "I'm Olivia. That's Faith, right?"

"Yeah. Mean bitch. She could have at least slowed down a little. Carla get in the dirty body bag. Carla jump off at a hundred miles an hour. I mean, geez. Slayer's pet, my ass."

"What?" Benson said but she wasn't listening, turning to watch Faith make another slashing pass with what Benson now realized was long broadsword. The smell of exhaust, burning rubber and toasted rock filled the air as the dragon flamed and just missed again and paid the price with another slicing wound.

Benson saw Xander then, struggling to his feet, holding the axe aloft and Faith went by and picked it from his hand and circled round to face the dragon head on and the engine roared, gravel sprayed and she rode straight in, the axe held out like a lance and she drove the blade deep into the beast's chest, twisted and slammed the bike sideways against the scaly body, Benson could see the shudder run through the animal like a ripple in jello. And the Faith spun away, circled the bike to shine the headlight on the stumbling dragon, dropped the side stand and leaped off sword in hand.

Benson saw Xander stumble and go down and she ran forward to help him, got a hand under his shoulder and braced him, helped him to his feet, shifted to his weak side and pulled his arm around her shoulders,

"Liar," she told him.

The dragon was squealing now, wheezing, Benson looked up and saw Faith mounted on its back, hacking at its neck, great gouts of blood spurted, the head began to sag, it came loose and fell and the Faith leaped free as the huge body fell sideways and began to thrash randomly in its death throes.

And then Faith was bounding toward them, Benson heard the whoomph as the air left Xander's lungs as Faith slammed into him, pasted herself against him, kissing him hard until his hands began to flail. Then stepping back and holding him up in air, glaring, demanded,

"Don't you ever, ever, ever scare me like that again!"

Damn, Benson thought, no wonder the demons don't frighten him.

"Umm," Xander said, "….okay?"

And then Faith let him down and kissed him gently and, to Benson's amazement, looked down and scuffed her feet and went all shy girly, said softly,

"I love my new bike. Thank you."

"Well, Zoey found it."

"I know. And I thanked her, will again. But you knew I needed it… Brought you something," Faith said and slipped under his arm, helped him move toward the motorcycle.

Benson wanted to scream, **_THERE'S A DEAD DRAGON OVER THERE!_**

"George doing okay?" Xander asked.

"George is doing great."

Faith reached over to the bike and retrieved a silver headed walking stick, handed it to Xander, dug in her saddlebag, pulled out two sandwiches and a couple Gatorades, tossed one each to Benson who thought,

_**THERE'S A DEAD DRAG**_… oh, that hits the spot.

Then there more lights, moving silent across the cavern floor like lightning bugs, lights that grew larger and resolved into five girls on mountain bikes who came up and leaped en masse on Xander until they'd each gotten in a good hug, then they ran over to inspect the dragon, half seriously complaining to Faith that she hadn't left them any, the little blonde girl looking around, asking eagerly,

"Do you think there's another one, like a mate or something, cause that would be cool and maybe Faith won't hog it next time? And I want a motorcycle too."

"So," Faith said, "you're here. I guess that means you know where the back door is."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

ADA Catherine Lodge heard the doorbell and went to the door, her hand pressed against the still painful brand on her breast. She peered cautiously through the peephole, but it was only two young grinning girls, holding what looked like boxes of candy.

"Selling band candy, ma'am, ten dollars for a box of twelve, good deal, good cause."

Lodge sagged, a little chocolate would be nice. She opened the door and there was darkness.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mather sat on his throne, waiting.

"The van's at the gate," the purple headed quarshink demon informed him.

"Anyone following?"

"No sir."

"The perimeter?"

"All clear."

"Let them in," Mather said. He looked over at Madame Pavlova. "You've been lying to me. I shall have to discover how you did that. Well, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to explore."

He settled back to enjoy the anticipation. A slayer on his altar. A slayer under his control. Four. The power. He could taste it. He could see himself carried through the cheering demonic crowds of Free Cleveland, even Matherland, perhaps, riding on a sedan chair carried by four comely slayers.

He heard the machinery cranking as the van was lowered down, he heard the steel door roll up.

His world went to shit.

The fyarls by his side sprouted crossbow bolts, the wounds foaming with the green bile that meant the tips were lethal silver, the quarshink turned to run but took a spear in the back that pinned him to the wall, the remaining Praetorian Guard fell in hail of steel and wood, what should have been four unconscious and helpless girls had turned into ten heavily armed slayers, moving fast, he stood, waved a hand and caught one in a stasis spell but before he could move again his hands were pinned down, fastened to the the arms of his throne, a ball gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking, his mind ordered Madame Pavlova to act, but she too was bound and gagged and helpless.

There was a girl standing over him, looming over him, auburn hair in a tight french braid, dressed in a tweed suit, with blue eyes so icy it made his blood run cold.

"The thing about _Ovid's Petals_, Mr. Mather," the girl said softly, "is that any well educated Watcher knows there is an antidote."

It got worse. The panel hiding the dragon's lair rolled back and still more slayers spilled into the altar room. There was a girl with them, leading them…. A vampire. One of his vampires he'd thought was lost, she lead them to the secret stairs and the slayers poured upward and soon he could hear the screams and howls of dying demons.

And worse still. Harris was there, grinning at him.

"Now," Harris said, "don't you wish we'd just gone for pizza?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Crap, Carla thought. I'm not gonna get to bite him, am I? Lying bitch.

They were ignoring her after she'd shown them the stairs, so she slipped away down the side hall to the dorm area. The two slave girls were there, sitting up but looking stunned. And on the third bunk her friend Marissa lay still, doped up. Carla grabbed her, sat her up, slapped her a couple times, careful to avoid the fangs, shook her 'til she came awake, her eyes widened,

"Carla! You're alive. We thought…"

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon get up, we gotta get outta here."

"I can't, the Master, I need…."

"The Master is full of shit. Also, totally fucked. You don't need him. Look at me. Haven't had any potion since last time you saw me. All bullshit. Only the blood matters. It's all about the blood. You'll see. Now let's get the hell out of here before they decide to fuck me over again some more."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was overwhelming. Benson stood and gaped.

There was a girl hanging frozen in mid-air. There was a man dressed like a comic book character tied to a chair. Madame Pavlova was bound and gagged.

Other girls were moving at inhuman speeds. Dead monsters littered the floor, unearthly howls and screams echoed down the stairs, grew fainter and more rare and finally trickled to a stop. Harris stood chatting with a young woman in a tweed suit, or he was listening as she spoke, nodding often.

Then came the ant parade of girls carrying one, sometimes two dead monsters on their shoulders and tossing them down through the hole in the wall, Faith shouting at them to be careful not to hit her beemer or the other girls' bicycles.

She watched two girls, one the motorcycle pillion who bounced off rocks and another who looked vaguely familiar, both doing the world's worst casual walks over to the elevator but still managing to leave unnoticed by anyone else.

She watched the woman in tweed, who she gathered was called George for some reason, pull on tight leather gloves and search the bound man and retrieve an ugly looking athame. She spoke into her phone and moments later two girls and a young man in a three piece suit came down the stairs, one of the girls was carrying an unconscious ADA Lodge. She laid the woman on the altar and began to undress her.

Benson started forward, "What the hell are you …"

George turned, "Oh, Detective, I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. Perhaps you would rather wait upstairs?"

"Wait upstairs? What the hell are you talking about… what are you going to do?"

And then Harris had his arm around her shoulders, he was pulling her way,

"What are you going to do, Olivia? Arrest him?" He pointed at the girl hanging in mid-air. "Can you keep him bound and gagged forever? What are you going to do when he freezes the courtroom and walks free? Or the precinct. Maybe takes a couple of your fellow officers along as slaves?"

"But…what are you going to do?"

"We're going to kill him, and frame ADA Lodge for it. It'll look like she escaped and killed him. A respected ADA, beautiful woman. Self defense, easy. Especially when your crime scene guys starting looking in the other rooms. She'll be a hero. Besides, do her good to see the system from the other side for a change."

"But…"

"He did rape her, you know. A couple days ago. He raped Madame Pavlova, he was going to rape you, and not just sexually. He was going to control you, the way he did Shreiner."

"But I can't let you just murder…"

His eye was warm and brown, his grin contagious, and suddenly both were very very cold and hard. "You can't stop us, Olivia. You want to go tell your bosses about demons and dragons and me shoving a knife in his heart… you do what you have to do. Good luck. Or you can be one of the brave and clever detectives hot on the trail of a serial killer/rapist, arriving just in time to give aid and comfort to the brave woman who saved herself. Your choice. You don't have to watch."

"Yes," she said, "I do."

She watched as Faith and the rest of the two-wheel crew disappeared back down into the dragon cave, and the man in the three-piece, Thiago, waved his hands and the hole disappeared.

She watched Xander and George argue fiercely for a minute, and then finally Xander nodded sadly and stood back and George put the knife against the bound man's chest and drove it home.

The girl fell out of the air and began complaining she'd missed all the fun.

Benson watched Xander lean over and stare into Madame Pavlova's face a moment, then nod and untie her, ease the gag from her mouth.

"Took your own sweet time about it, didn't you Xander," she said and Xander grinned,

"You're welcome, Vaddie," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, reached out and took his hand, then suddenly pulled back and began to fan herself. "_Oh my_," she said, "you're going to have quite the night, aren't you?"

"C'mon Vaddie, the girls will take you home."

Benson watched Xander and George remove the dead man's gag and bonds then lift an underwear-clad Catherine Lodge, place her hand on the knife, then wave something under her nose and she woke, looked around and began to sob, Benson took her in her arms, held her, heard her whisper,

"I'm free, thank you, thank you, I'm free."

"Come to supper tomorrow, all of you," Xander said. "We'll sort out any last details."

George opened her phone, dialed, said, "Detectives, you're on."

And then Thiago came to stand with Xander and George and suddenly they were gone and Benson was alone with the corpse and the crying woman and her own terrible confusion. She owed them, Xander, her life, she knew that. But they had been so… cold.

She heard the car arrive, heard Stabler's voice,

"Down here," she called, and watched as Stabler, with Munch and Fin close behind, came into the altar room, gun in hand, then deciding it was clear came running to her, she stood, let him take her in a big, terribly awkward hug.

"Liv, are you allright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Really?"

"Really."

He stood back, looked around, said, "What the hell happened here?"

"Elliot," Benson said, "You really, really, _really_ don't want to know."

**-30-**

Next: 

**Chapter 19: Life goes on, again, some more**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: Life goes on, again, some more**

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Chapter 19: Life goes on, again, some more.**

"Willow, really," Giles said, "must we always arrive in Xander's bedroom?"

"Oh, pfff," Willow answered, "what are you worried about? You've already got your glasses off. You can't see a thing."

"Yes, well, sometimes one's imagination only makes it worse. Do whatever minor evil it is you must to the poor boy, I shall await his cries of distress and outrage in the office."

Xander was on his back, one arm flung out, mouth wide open. Willow held her palm out and a small green cricket appeared and she crept forward.

And leaped back with a squeak as Faith's head popped out from under the covers.

"Hey, Red," she said, grinning, "watchya doin'?"

"Faith," Willow said neutrally.

"Have a heart, Red, let the poor guy sleep. He had a hard night, and he _is_ only human. He needs his rest."

"Yes. Well. I'll leave you to it, then. I mean…. Never mind." Willow scurried toward the door, Faith called out,

"Hey, Red," and Willow looked back and Faith dropped the blankets down and up to flash the high beams and cackled wildly as the witch rolled her eyes and turned away and shut the bedroom door behind her.

"Oh for Goddess' sake," Willow said, "it's the hellmouth, he couldn't find a nice demoness to shack up with?" She glared at Giles, "And if you say it serves me right you'll start finding really horrible things at the bottom of your teacup."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carla stood nervously in the polished hallway, she checked the name on the card Faith had given her, checked the name on the door. This was the place. She hadn't expected something quite so… _fancy_.

She sort of wished she hadn't brought Marissa with her 'cause then she could have chickened out and maybe come back later.

She was glad she'd brought Marissa with her, 'cause now she couldn't chicken out. She pushed the door open and went in with Marissa close on her heels.

She'd had to almost half-carry the heavily doped Marissa across town back to the apartment. They'd rode up the elevator then Carla had left her in the hall and knocked on the door, pushed in when a wide-eyed Jimmy opened it,

"Hey Babe," he'd said, "where you been? I was getting worried."

"Oh, I've hanging out down at the _slayer house_, Jimmy, with my new pal _Faith _the freaking _Vampire Slayer_, Jimmy."

"Hey, babe, I made the deal for both of us, two months blood and two passes each, babe, that's top dollar."

"Yeah, I know," Carla said softly, "I know, but you could have at least told me."

"I was afraid you'd freak out."

"No! _Really?"_

"I'm sorry babe, I really am."

"Me too. It was just…. really scary. Got you a souvenir though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

When the dust had settled she went back out and brought Marissa in, set her on a chair in the kitchen and nuked a couple bags and fed her, watching her eyes beginning to grow focused, her movements grow more sure.

They took turns in the shower, then sat cross-legged on the bed while Carla filled Marissa in on the whole vampire thing and the living sitch.

"So this is your place," Marissa marveled.

"Yeah," Carla said, "I got it in the divorce."

They'd slept for awhile, woke up, helped each other with their makeup, fed from the fridge that was beginning to look a little empty. This was gonna be better, Carla thought, gonna be fun. Hanging out with Marissa, scoping guys. Jimmy had been cool but she wasn't really ready for just one guy yet. But they had to get organized, pay the rent.

She took out the card Faith had given her after she had first identified the Master's mansion,

"After you dust the bastard that sold you," Faith had said, "check this place out. Could work for you. I'm gonna check on you, I wanna hear good things."

Faith was like the big sister Carla never had. Scary, mean, psycho might-kill-you-any-minute-for-not-breathing big sister, but still, no one else, who didn't want to fuck her, had ever showed even this much interest.

So here she was all nervous in the way-fancy office of _DoNoHarm, Inc_. and this nasty receptionist was looking down her nose, saying,

"Oh, you want to see HARMONY, do you? And why would Ms. Kendall want to see you?"

"All I know is Faith said to give you this and ask to see Harmony, so here," Carla said, thrusting the tattered card across the desk. The snotty woman took it, read the back and her eyes widened and suddenly things were happening, the receptionist spoke quietly into the phone and a busty blonde woman with a bright smile that seemed just a little mad burst from the back room and gathered the two girls in, took them down the hall to a plush office,

"You must be Carla and this is…?"

"My friend Marissa, it's okay if she's here too, right?"

"Oh, yes, the more the merrier. Now, what did Faith tell you?"

"Just to come here and give you that card."

"Okay, here's the bad news. We take ten percent of anything you make. No exceptions, not even for friends of Faith. The good news, we find you the jobs. We give you some basic training at no charge. We have all kind of education plans, loans, we help you get into school. Online, or a lot of our people go to night classes at Cleveland State. We want you to do better because the better you do, the better we do, and we all do better together. You're wondering what the catch is. Ask me what the catch is…"

"Uh…." Carla said, "what's the catch?"

"We test you for human blood. Once a month and sometimes at random. You test positive once, if it's borderline you get a chance to convince us that you just forgot and had a pint of O-pos at Willy's, but you better be damn convincing. Fail a second time and you're dusted on the spot. Skip your test and we send your info to the slayers and they hunt you down. Now, to make this easier we do have a wide selection of certified human-free animal bloods at very reasonable prices available here at the office. We do deliver but you'll probably want to move up the salary ladder a bit before you want to pay for that. Understood?"

"Okay then, we've got some boring aptitude tests and paperwork to take care of and then you'll be on your way. In a day or two we'll get back to you with some job offers, and you'll be a couple of kicky undead girls, making it in the big city."

On the way out the snotty receptionist practically kissed their asses all the way to the door. It was nice to have…. friends … in high places. Carla was in a bit of daze when they were finally back in the hall, clutching thick folders of educational options and free samples of otter, buffalo and emu blood. But her mind was still working. She was a little meh on the whole _working_ concept. On the other hand, she had to admit, it got boring just hanging out in the apartment all day. So she'd go along for awhile, make some cash, learn the system, cause there had to be a way to beat it. This would be fine for now, great even, but someday…

Someday she was gonna have another kill, 'cause she knew, knew in her bones, that there was nothing else like it.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

They snatched a few hours sleep and then met in the hotel coffee shop for a late breakfast. It was the first time the foursome had been alone together for… quite some time. They sat silent, sipping their coffee and staring into the 'tween spaces.

It had been a very long night. There were horrors in that basement that the CSU guys were speculating went back years, and in some cases, generations. Captain Maddux was expecting to close a lot of old files. She had looked at them hard a few times as they told their stories but said nothing.

Stabler broke the ice, "So, Liv," he said, "you want to tell us what really happened."

"Don't think you'd believe me."

"Oh, we might," Munch said. "Xander took us on a little tour of Cleveland nightlife. You tell me Poppin' Fresh has a house in the Hamptons, I'm ready to believe it."

So she told them. Up until the point where Harris, well, his second, killed the perp in cold blood. She hesitated. But she looked up, could see in their eyes it was too late to leave it there, they were her partners. She told them, saw Munch and Fin react with initial anger, then sit back and digest, she felt Stabler's tension fill the air beside her.

She had talked with Harris, he was _Harris_ to her again, while they were in the dungeon cell, while walking through the dark cavern. They had talked a long time under the shadow of death. He was funny, he was kind. He was crazy brave and she owed him her life. She'd seen the girls pile on him with obvious love, she knew in her bones he was good man. He had to be one of the best of ….Them. And just for a moment he had showed her something, call it ruthlessness, call it resolve, it scared her.

She'd seen such power. She'd seen a _dragon_. A huge fire-breathing dragon. She'd seen a single woman bring it down. _With a sword_. Then pass out sandwiches like it was just another day at the office.

She'd seen a group of such women, moving with organized speed and efficiency, blow through monsters that would haunt her dreams like wolves in a hen house.

She'd seen cold calculations done and a man killed. Assuming he had the power they said he did, and who was she to argue that, she couldn't fault the logic, though she'd tried all night.

She thought she understood better now the arguments of an old, very short term, boyfriend, who had enraged her, telling her how much the police frightened him.

"I know you feel over-whelmed by the population," he'd said, "tied down by all the rules and regulations, I know you eat your own sometimes, but still the single largest organized armed gang in the City is the NYPD. You Olivia, mean well, do your best, any single cop can be a good guy, probably is. The world would be worse without you…"

"But as a whole you are still power incarnate. You walk around with guns visible, you push people around. You have backup just minutes away. You have all manner of petty ways you can fuck with people's lives. You put people in cages. You enforce laws good and bad. You are controlled, of course, restrained. But only as long as you agree to be restrained. Only as long as the power that controls you agrees to be restrained."

Now Olivia understood the phrase "power incarnate" a little better. And the fear.

They were invited out to the slayer house for dinner, steaks off the grill, friendly conversations, tying up loose ends. She wondered if it was a test. She wondered what happened if they failed.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

He found her sitting in the glider on the front porch.

"Mr. Giles," she said, looking up as he approached, sat beside her.

"I think, under the circumstances, you might call me Rupert." He laughed as he saw her face. "Or at least you might go American and drop the mister."

"Is that my reward? Does that mean I'm a real Watcher now?"

"In a way. Let's say you've completed your dissertation."

"And now I have to defend it?"

"Only to yourself. Xander let you do it. You'll never get a better compliment, you know."

They sat silent for awhile.

"I don't feel bad," she said. "I felt a little sick at the time, while his body was dying but, not now. It was the right thing."

She stood, leaned against the railing looking back at him, "The girls are so easy with it all," she said, "they run they jump they battle demons. They eat ice cream. They have so much power. I had a little crush on Xander, and then Faith… I started to understand how Aunt Gwen felt, why she wanted some power for herself so badly. And then last night, with all those girls following my orders I had such power she couldn't even dream of. It was intoxicating. Tempting. So I'm sitting here wondering what happens if I start to like it too much… if I…"

Giles laughed.

"Oh," he said. "That's easy. Then Xander kills you. Or has Faith do it if need be. Or I do. Or Buffy does. Or Willow. Or, I think, maybe Renee, she seems to have a fine moral compass. Because we are all-knowing and all-wise and always do the right thing. I'm sure that's in the handbook somewhere."

"Oh, I see," Georgianne said. "Well, that's all right then."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Hey Will," Xander said, "how were the mountains?"

"Mountains?"

"I thought Giles said something about you going on a retreat in the highlands. I wasn't really listening. So, how are you? How's the new girl? Had her tongue pierced yet?"

"Her name is Lilly, and no and Hey! None of your business, mister. Not that you are in any position to talk mister-I'm-sleeping-with Faith the …. Dragon Slayer."

"Be nice."

"Don't wanna. But okay. So, Thiago did well then?"

"He did fine. He's a little imprecise with the teleporting, but otherwise he did great. He's the one who picked up on the Ovid's Petals being used, kept his cool when it all went down. He could chill a little in general, but no big. Will?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna need a favor later. I know it's not your favorite thing, but, maybe Thiago isn't quite ready. Plus, I'm gonna need you to do it even if everybody else is against it. I'll bring it up at the meeting, and I hope they agree, but I need you to do it even if they don't. Cause I know I'm right."

"Okay. If you're sure. But I'm not turning Andrew into a newt again."

"Oh, please, just for a little while."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Please. Please please please and I won't call Lilly and tell her you were ogling my girlfriend."

"Well. Maybe. But only for like five minutes."

"Just so you get it on video."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Hey, Big G.," Xander said, smiling as the older man winced in the traditional manner, "wanna make a grocery run? See real food, actual unboiled vegetables all green and everything?"

"Xander, the UK actually has a substantial agricultural economy and I assure you…."

"You coming, or not?"

Xander waited until they were in the truck and blocks away, well clear of even slayer hearing.

"You ruthless bastard," he said.

"I need Watchers, Xander, real, experienced tested Watchers. And the only true test…"

"Is the test of fire, I get it."

"And witches. Willow can't be the only…."

"I know, we save Willow for the apocalypses, not the Xander-might-eat-his-hand situations."

"I'd have brought her in before you devoured anything vital."

"Define_ vital_….Giles, it's okay. I understand. Really, I do. But there are some who might not, so what we're doing here is negotiating my silence. I'm thinking, you eat two twinkies for each person I don't tell."

"That's just cruel."

"Washed down with cream soda. House brand."

"Beyond cruel."

"Or…"

"I'm listening."

"Zoey has this idea for creating a small fleet of motorcycles to extend our patrol areas and act as a sort of rapid response unit…"

"Xander, when I tell you our budget is limited I'm not…"

"So we all need to fight a little harder a piece of the pie. We're talking used bikes and some additional tools and work space for Zoey, very economical. And as a reward for her hard work and initiative, I happen to know that she has her heart set on a particular Italian model that might be easier found used in, you know, Italy, so maybe if you could pry Buffy off her latest…"

"Send Dawn the specs. You know I love Buffy, but if you ask her to find you a Ducati you're going to receive either two stuffed toy felines or a cap with a mallard on it and a puzzled note."

"Point. Dawnie it is, though, actually I think she wants a Guzzi and…. moving on…"

"So essentially you want me to approve all your requests at the meeting."

"No. There's a request in for a commercial grade ice cream maker I'd appreciate you turning down."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Georgianne was pleased with the world. Her plan had come off perfectly. Xander was retrieved whole, there had been a few bites and scratches, one sprained ankle, but no serious injuries.

To be sure at the, what else to call it, after-party the big hit had been the epic re-re-telling of Faith and the Dragon. And Xander had been the recipient of the majority of the big passionate hugs, to the point where Faith had climbed in his lap and only half-jokingly began telling the girls to back off.

But Georgianne received hugs herself, and at the very least a pat on the back from every girl, and seen in their eyes respect and not the horror she'd feared.

And now she was PRESIDING over a meeting attended by Giles, Willow, Xander, plus Faith, Caridad and Vi, all_ people of the bus_ AND she felt perfectly comfortable. They'd breezed through the budget requests, Giles approving nearly everything she asked for though what he had against ice cream she couldn't fathom. She really looked forward to giving Zoey the go ahead, the girl would burst with excitement and that without even knowing about her own bike in the works.

They'd teased Vi and discussed the idea of married slayer housing, brainstormed a bit on how best to crack down and get a little tighter grip on the demon community. Now, they were at the major decision of the day, what to do about the SVU cops coming to dinner.

"I think they could be useful," she said, envisioning the rolodex on her desk, filled with names and numbers of people in… important places, people who could smooth the slayer's lives. But she saw Xander slowly shake his head.

"If it was just Munch, maybe. He's a little more… flexible in his thinking than the others. And, by himself, no one would believe him. Besides, it'll be for their own good. They'll begin to doubt themselves and go looking and get themselves killed. Plus I truly believe Stabler will be a lot happier not knowing."

"With all due respect, Xander, whenever anyone starts talking about doing things for someone's own good…." she started.

"Yeah, you're right. It's true, but I mostly threw that out there to make Will feel better." He leaned back, Georgianne saw the pain cross his face. Saw Faith reach out and lay her hand on his shoulder.

"God, it would be nice to have string of useful contacts in the cops, with the DA. It wouldn't work. We ask for favors. They'd ask for help. There's a man holding hostages on the tenth floor, could a slayer maybe sneak in… Then they'd _demand_ our help. Start giving us assignments. Demand that a slayer do regular SWAT duty. Take it over."

He turned and looked right at her, said, "Cops, politicians the world over… even the occasional Watcher… _power junkies_. Slayers are the super primo grade. Raw power. They wouldn't be able to resist…"

He leaned back,

"We can only hide in plain sight like this if they don't know we exist. And if we can't hide in plain sight, there is no normal life for the girls. As for these four. We killed a man and used them to cover it. It will bother them. The magic and the demons and even the dragon will fade, but they'll remember the dead man and they'll remember being used and it will nag at them. But that's not it either, really. We've declared ourselves outside the law, straightforward defied, worse, ignored their authority and they won't be able to live with that. Everywhere I've been, the worst of Africa, the best of Europe, nothing pisses off a cop faster than ignoring his authority over whatever bit of turf, however tiny, he claims as his own. Maybe we're no better. But it's only a matter of time until Benson tells someone it was George who put in the knife. Maybe nothing will happen, but we'll always have to wonder… " He paused, rubbed his eye a moment then leaned forward to talk directly to Willow.

"And maybe we could live with that. But it wouldn't stop there. If four cops want to expose us and know what they're looking for, they'll expose us. Expose Robin in New York. Maybe not to the public, but they'll take it upstairs. They'll want slayers under their control, in the end, that's always where it will lead. We'd have to hide, go deep underground and no chance at all for normal lives…."

"It's okay, Xan," Willow interrupted, "I understand."

"Shall we put it to a vote, all in favor say aye," George said, and that was that.

"One more item," Giles said. "Unless you're having Willow visit the entire traffic patrol, I understand it might be diplomatic of Faith to keep a low profile for awhile. And while I'm sure we'll get it quickly quashed, there is still technically a warrant out for Xander's arrest. So, since George has shown she can handle the easy stuff, demons and wizards and so on, I thought maybe we'd give her a real challenge. Such as getting a houseful of slayers to school on time. While Xander and Faith take a little vacation, courtesy of Rosenberg travel."

"Just a beast of burden, me," Willow said. "Just say where and when."

"I've got a couple ideas," Faith said.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"So, what if they decide to rob banks?" Stabler said.

"Then I think banks get robbed," Benson answered. "But they don't rob banks. We'd have heard."

The four detectives were parked a little ways down the street from the slayer house. Benson's fears had spread.

"We could just not go in," Fin said.

"Then I think they come and get us," Benson said. "We have to go in, we have to smile and laugh and eat and convince them we're not a threat. That we'll keep their secrets. Harris is a good guy, I believe that. But if he decides we're a threat to his girls I think he feels really really bad about making us disappear. But he still makes us disappear. Just like you would, Elliot, if you thought it was the only way to save your girls."

"So we just leave them to this secret war of theirs?"

"You know," Munch said, "When I stop and think about it, those demons were all ugly and evil looking, but the only actual killing we've seen has been done by these girls."

"Not helping, John," Benson said. "That's because, one, they're very very good, and two, the demons don't invite you to ride along. And yes, Elliot, we leave them to their war because we don't have a choice."

"And we're just supposed to_ ignore_…. I can't…"

She knew Elliot had spent the day trying to think of ways to warn his daughters about vampires that wouldn't have Kathy calling Dr. Huang. Or getting a restraining order. Without much luck. The only way was to capture one and show them like he'd been shown.

"I was sitting right next to her," he'd told her, "we talked about her boyfriend. I was going to … HELP her. _IT_. I _HAVE_ to warn my kids."

"Okay, " Fin said, "say Harris is Gandhi and Ma Theresa and all things nice. What happens when the next dragon eats him?"

"Then we pray whoever takes over has no reason to hate cops," Benson said. "Look, guys, please. If we decide we have to do something we can do it later, after we take some precautions, write letters to be mailed if we're missing, something like that. Right now, just think of it as undercover."

Once inside Benson began to relax a little. Her fears began to seem silly. There were new faces, an ethereal redhead who apparently had gone beyond tree-hugging and named herself after one, who pinned a flower on her lapel, touched her forehead and blessed her. There was an older, quite charming British man decked out in an absurdly tall chef's hat, presiding over the grill on the back porch. She looked around, Munch, wearing his own lapel flower, was entertaining a group of girls with Stupid Criminal stories, Stabler, similarly adorned, had been coaxed into bringing out his wallet load of family photos. Fin, also flowered, was sitting with two girls, being shown an album of African safari photos, lions and elephants, baboons, but didn't seem to be suffering too badly.

But just as she would decide she was being paranoid, they were just girls having a party… then a glass would fall and be snatched out of the air with inhuman speed and the whole scene would change, like those trick pictures, a cup or two faces, and she would see not laughing girls but elegant little killing machines, moving about with a casual grace that revealed rather than hid their power. She felt Harris' eye on her. You know who sucks at undercover? Me, that's who, she thought.

There was a gathering at the dining table, much laughter and some tears. Apparently Harris and Faith were leaving the next day on some sort of honeymoon type trip, first stop, Cuba.

Cuba? Benson wondered, worried. Why Cuba?

There were improvised gag gifts, a micro-micro bikini…

"Oops, I think this one was for you, Xan," Faith said, grinning, playing to the chorus of salacious female laughter.

Then there was cake and ice cream and Harris was coming toward her, she shrank back.

"There's no need to be afraid, Olivia," he told her.

"Isn't there? Why are we here?" She let him guide her away from the party, into his office.

"Just wanted to remind you that they're also little girls. And give you a chance to talk to someone who would believe you, if you need to."

"And then we just go home and pretend we don't know."

"Gangs on PCP. Gas leaks. It happens."

She looked at him. "You know we can't do that, don't you?" she stated, saw his face go sad. She sank into a chair. She'd never felt so helpless.

"What are you going to do to us?" He looked at her, she saw him form the lie, then let it go.

"You're going to forget, Olivia."

"What? You're going to…" The dragon was a horror, a nightmare, yet still a scene that was part of her now, something she she didn't want to lose. "You have no right!"

"None whatsoever. Just the duty."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

In the car Benson resisted the urge to follow Elliot's lead and loosen her belt. The second piece of cake, one too many.

"That was amazing," she said, her mind still full of the girls in gi's displaying their skills, wondering if she was too old to learn a few of the less athletic moves.

"You know," Fin said, "I've always thought all that martial arts crap about learning serenity through kicking people in the head was just BS, but for a group of troubled girls they sure seemed … serene."

Munch started the car, they moved off, he said,

"Catharine Lodge called me, said we should look into getting an agent. Says she's already getting movie offers…."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Faith stood and watched Xander comfort Willow. He carried her into the bedroom, tucked her in in what had been Faith's bed in the room she shared with George. He sat a moment, hand resting lightly on Willow's cheek, murmuring softly. To her own amazement Faith realized she wasn't jealous. She waited.

When he came out she took his hand, said, "I have a surprise for you."

She guided the motorcycle through the empty cemetery streets, lit only by the half moon and the headlight, she paused on a knoll, pointed at a particularly lush spot in the grass,

"You like it?" she asked.

"It's… nice?" Xander said from pillion, "Grassy."

"It's where I'm going to bury you if you laugh at me," she said, and the motorcycle moved on before he could answer. She parked beside a large marble mausoleum, with MATHER written over the door.

"This is…" Xander said as she help him dismount.

"His grave, eventually. But that's just a bonus. Hang on." She took him on her back and carried him up to the cleanswept flat marble roof. There was a little table already in place, with a bottle of rum, a box of twinkies, cigars, and a boombox.

Faith unzipped her boots and kicked them off, dropped the leather jacket. She pushed a button and the haunting strains of a waltz by Jay Unger and Molly Mason floated out over the graveyard. She took him in her arms, whispered,

"Let me guide you," and began counting, "_ONE two three ONE two three..."_

It took a little while. Early professional experience notwithstanding, Xander was not really a natural, they stumbled a bit, falling together, laughing, but gradually he fell into the rhythm and while still taking a little of his weight to ease his leg, Faith was able to close her eyes, rest her head on his shoulder and let him lead, to lose herself in the peace of the movement and the feel of his arms around her.

Renee sat in the tree and watched for awhile. She'd made a quick scout to be sure no vampires would interrupt them, but all was clear. She was going to miss him, but he'd be back, and Faith would take good care of him, she could slay dragons, she could watch Xander's back.

Renee dropped lightly to the ground. She knew George was taking a group of girls out on a late patrol. George was pretty smart, but she was still new and Renee knew she needed someone to watch over her. She started back, a few steps later Shad dropped and followed after, then Jacquie joined, and Isobel, then Zoey. They found their stashed bikes and mounted, rolled silently away while behind them Father Goose and the Black Knight laughed at the devil and danced in the pale moonlight.

**The End.**

**10/10/06**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Next: Loyalties: A Father Goose Tale : WIP: ETA 12/01/06

Sydney Bristow goes to Rome in search of her lost memories and finds two strange sisters who set her off on an odyssey into the world of magic, monsters and all too human evil, with only a one-eyed cripple and his rude girlfriend to guide her.


End file.
